


A Lost Light

by elil



Series: Embers in the Soil [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, God Tamer (Hollow Knight) - Freeform, Multi, Post-Canon, but an OC, forced into things they don't wanna do maybe don't read, gunna miss some more, if ur uncomfortable with beans being like, mostly tpk bc god tamer, no nsfw thou, pk's missed a lot, these beans will show up at some point i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-01-13 16:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 50,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18472981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elil/pseuds/elil
Summary: The Pale King knows it's time to face the Radiance himself, but an age of putting it off has lead to the development of another problem. Specifically, a God Tamer who'd love to be the first to tame an elusive Wyrm.





	1. O, Wyrm

The danger of shrouding oneself in dreams is that time begins to slip away from you. The Pale King clutched at the arms of his throne, staring vacantly at the marble wall before him. Thoughts would creep into his mind—a kingdom, bugs, a light brighter than his own, void he’d sought to break to his use—and then melt away. He was meant to do something with these thoughts, memories, they were memories they had happened, he had done or witnessed them, why could he not hold a thread long enough to plan anymore? Slowly, as though he were moving through molasses, he raised a hand. Summoned the energy to slap himself across the face, sending a jolt of awareness through him.

“Terra,” he croaked. He was fading. He had bought himself time to think, to plan, and he… he’d come up with nothing. Only allowed himself to grow weaker, when he so desperately needed to be stronger. Focus, he told himself, lifting his mask and rubbing his eyes.

How many times had he done this? Pulled himself from his stupor just to fall back into it? Scrolls of parchment with half-sketched plans and piles of half-read books littered the floor around his throne. A knapsack that had been packed and emptied and packed and emptied too many times, each time with different items but none of them actually resulting in him leaving. And now he’d lost his chance to do so easily.

He pulled his mask back down and crossed the room, throwing a window open and scowling at the scene below.

Usually it would be nothing more than the empty, empty palace grounds, and then clouds of dream to the horizon. Beyond the gates, however, numerous bugs tended to weapons and various instruments. He recognized the God Tamer’s standard, a single bronze arrow on a field of deep green, planted in the center of the camp. They’d been here for… he hesitated to gauge the length of time. They’d been here for time enough, content to wait out his decision of facing them or fading away.

Raja’s presence frightened him, because among God Tamers, she was known for going after challenging prey. But not impossible. He, a Wyrm, should never leave impossible, regardless of form. Invisible snares glowed in his truesight, though given how many there were around the palace, seeing them didn’t help much. He had investigated them earlier with his magic, disgusted to realize they were warded, disgusted further to realize they were sufficient enough to keep him from teleporting beyond them. The only clear path was to the camp proper. He turned away from the window and took a steadying breath.

Still, it was with trepidation that he picked up the knapsack and began filling it again, soon though he expected to lose it. He had to face her. He couldn’t hide here, shrouded in fading dreams, until he was forgotten and erased. He couldn’t leave Hallownest to its fate, he couldn’t leave Hollow to eternally suffer its burden in silence. He should have never left in the first place, but he was a coward, but he had to try, late, yes, but at least now, to fix things. 

That only left the issue of God Tamer Raja. He ran a finger along the strap of the knapsack and wondered if it was worth it. 

Which it? he wondered. Perhaps all of it. Hallownest. Leaving the palace. But the most immediate “it” was the knapsack, crammed with books and potions and trinkets. What good would they do him? 

He extracted a battered journal. It contained the musings of gods before the gods he knew and of ones he did. He’d filled the margins with his own thoughts. He’d meant to gift it to Lurien, though he’d always stopped when he feared it was both too little and too much of a gesture. He was a king, a god, and all that was not doing him much good now, was it?

He tucked the book into his cloak. I will give this to Lurien, he promised himself. Wyrms were not tamed. Wyrms were not tamed. He left the rest of the knapsack and finally the palace, skirting closer traps and heading up the path towards the camp.

He saw other bugs, wearing her colors, but they did not stop him. There were at least fifteen, not counting however many were in the tents ahead. If they were half the warriors Raja was, it was with growing dread that he realized he might not be able to escape them all. For the first time in many years, he missed his proper form. Terra give him strength. 

Raja was a fine beetle, heavyset and a rich green with tints of bronze, garbed in silver chitin. She leaned on a copper nail and a large crossbow was slung across her back. The standard behind her was lazy in the still air of dreams, and none of the bugs with her made a move to attack him. They watched, though their eyes often flickered to Raja for further instruction. She offered none.

“How noble of you to not flee,” she said. “Are you here to surrender?”

“Absolutely not,” he said venomously.

Her laughter was surprisingly warm. Perhaps he was that deprived of another being’s presence. “Excellent. I love a god with spirit.”

In a blur of green she crossed the distance between them. His mask deflected her nail with a soft crunch, and he shook his head to clear the particles of stone that fell into his eyes. His magic responded before his mind did. She was attacking him. He had to fight. A cold swell of power and exhilaration he hadn’t felt in ages rose through him.

She lifted her nail again and this time he stepped out of the way. He raised his hands and called ice to him, the ground becoming coated in it in a flash of white wind. The other bugs scurried out of the way. He supposed there was some comfort in only having to face their leader, and not all of them at once.

“I love it!” Raja yelled over the gale. She had been moved only a few feet, but her step towards him was hesitant. She gave the ground a few experimental taps with a foot. Cold rose again—why was he waiting?—and he summoned shards of light and flung them at her. She leapt out of the way and drew her crossbow, loading a bolt in the air and firing it a moment after she hit the ground. He coated his hand in ice and knocked it away. 

She fired again and he teleported a few feet away. In the half second it took for his vision to focus she was on him, cutting through his cloak and leaving a burning pain across his arm. Cold washed over it and left the arm numb. The ice did not melt so much as simply disappear from the ground. Did it always fade so quickly? She was still attacking him. He shook his head and ducked away from the swing. He’d been planning on fighting the Radiance, when he was struggling to keep pace with a mortal bug? Another burning pain, this time across his chest.

He teleported again. He reappeared crouching, reaching into the earth and pulling; ice and dirt exploded around him, catching Raja as she leapt towards him and knocking her into the air. She spread her wings and he called the earth back down, and it and her came crashing in front of him.

“Delightful,” she breathed. She rolled away before the pillar of light he called could lance her. He threw shards and she hissed as they pierced through her armor before disappearing in a flash.

He stopped falling for the bait of having a bolt shot at him, instead stepping out of the way and waiting for her to swing at him in earnest before teleporting away. He only managed to catch her once more before she started predicting where he would appear, and by the time he’d reached for the earth then she would already be on top of him, tearing through the meager defense offered by his cloak. His own hits never seemed to land anywhere critical, or she had another layer of defenses he could not see. 

Eventually they fell into a rhythm; they’d hit each other, he would teleport, he’d either be ready to deflect her nail or he’d choose to try to strike her as she charged. 

Despite this, he could not recall the last time he’d truly fought someone. Just as he was thinking that he should perhaps stop teleporting so much, Raja switch to her crossbow and shot at him. He’d forgotten she even had the thing, the pain from a bolt to his chest indefinitely more painful than the previous hits. He staggered. 

She pulled something from a pocket and lobbed it at him. He did not get a good look at it before it burst, thick cords wrapping around him and latching into the ground. Another bolt followed it, pain exploding in his shoulder, and he barely managed to focus long enough to see she was reloading and to teleport away as she took aim.

The net unhooked from the ground but did not weigh any less when he did. The bolt to his side felt oddly distant. He looked up in time to see her charging him.

He exhaled cold, the tip of Raja’s nail coming to an ice-encased stop just a few inches from his face. For a sweet, sweet moment the onslaught stopped, and his mind screamed at him to take advantage of this. His body, however, protested, and he fell hard to a knee. He spat up a chunk of ice and struggled to catch his breath.

He had not frozen her completely, and with a furious beating of wings Raja pulled herself free. He could only manage a wheeze when he felt another bolt go into his back. She at least had to limp over to him, an inkling of satisfaction through the growing exhaustion he felt. “I’ve always wondered,” she said wearily, reaching a hand under his mask and pulling it free. 

She laughed again, albeit briefly. “An ant,” she said. “Adorable. No wonder you are so small. You are stunningly plain without those horns.”

Shut up, is what he wanted to say, but he could not muster the strength to speak. She struck him with the stock of her crossbow and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading. This will be a story of unknown length, as I have a lot of ideas I'm trying to mush together. Comments are always appreciated!


	2. Decorum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King has anxiety.

A dull pain throbbed through him, slowly pulling him from sleep. He shifted a bit, unable to manage much more or open his eyes. Everything ached and was so, so heavy. Soft voices reached him but he could not parse their words, even when it sounded like they moved closer. An eye was pulled open and blobs met him.

They let go and he couldn’t keep the eye open; the only thought he could muster was that he really wanted to go back to sleep. Nothing seemed determined to stop him. He drifted off.

No dreams disturbed him, and this time he woke because… he wasn’t sure. His limbs were more responsive this time, and he could hold the thought of waking up. For a minute at least. He agreed with himself that this was an acceptable course of action, and with far too much difficulty, opened his eyes.

A pillow filled half his vision, which did nothing to encourage him getting up. It was quiet save for the brief creak of the cot he was in, a door closing somewhere in the distance, the pitter patter of rain.

He lifted his head, found the room empty, and gingerly got to his feet. His body hated this idea, protesting the moment he moved. Someone had removed his cloak and bandaged his wounds, and neither his cloak or mask were anywhere to be seen. Around his left wrist was a thin, coppery shackle etched with glyphs. He reached for his magic and they glowed a faint white. It did not hurt, but he found himself incapable of grasping even the smallest thread, like he’d forgotten how. Or rather, he knew, but it did not work, no matter how he tried to throw himself at it. It did not seem to have anywhere for a key. He hissed, pulling and gnawing at the shackle. It glowed again, this time blue, and again it didn’t hurt but it did not give. He gave up with a noise of disgust.

The room itself contained three other cots, all empty. An alchemy stove sat quietly in the back, surrounded by various bottles and stacks of books. Two of the walls had a single window each, green curtains pulled back to let in the dreary light of the rain. A single door was to his right. He went over to a window, touching the glass. It was cool, water slipping down the pane in droplets. A simple latch seemed all keeping it closed, and he flipped it up. Nothing happened. He pushed the window open.

He’d avoided the City of Tears because he disliked getting wet, and he had not realized how much he missed it until now. For a long minute he just stood there, eyes closed as the rain fell in and brought with it a pleasant breeze. 

Finally he regained his senses, looking out the window proper. It was overlooking a field, scattered with target dummies but currently empty of bugs, save some sort of bug-horse rolling about in a puddle of mud. He was glad at least someone was enjoying themselves.

There was no one else in the room with him. He could just climb out the window and leave. He did not know where he was, except above ground and not in the realm of dreams. All he had to do was get far enough away and tunnel and he’d be gone. Sure, he felt as weak as a grubling and he was shaking from the exertion of standing for a little, but he could certainly dig.

The rain began to fall in earnest, and he placed a hand on the window frame. In that moment a strange, almost primordial call told him to take his defeat with an ounce of grace. He hesitated. 

It had not come from outside. It was something in him, a part he had not known existed and was immediately not fond of. He did not admit defeat. 

No, he reminded himself. You stall it. He chased this thought away, shaking his head. Wyrms were not tamed, and grace was for gods who did not have other places to be. He, on the other hand, knew exactly where he needed to go.

Did he? he wondered, gripping the window frame. He had no reason to believe his return would truly help Hallownest. A mortal bug had defeated him; the Radiance would decimate him. Hollow could help, sure, but it was likely weakened from containing her for so long. 

Assuming Hollow was still- he cut the thought off. Of course Hollow was still there. He’d judged its purity and sealed it himself. Recent events were just spiking his anxiety. Everything was fine.

What was he saying? Everything was not fine. Hallownest was held together by a thread—he hoped—and he had nothing to offer it. He’d done all he could. Maybe this was for the best. Surely he had to try to do more. What more? Focus. Climb out the window. This was always his issue nowadays, getting caught up in the minute that he ended up doing nothing. Window. Out. Now. Go.

Raja bested him. Even if he managed to return to Hallownest, this would always follow him. 

He let go of the window frame and turned around. “Terra,” he gasped. A reedy bug, green with blotches of red and garbed in a white scarf was standing a few feet away, watching him. He had no idea how long she'd been there, or how he missed her walking in.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was going to advise that you don’t have the strength to make that. I mean. You’d survive. But you’d probably knock yourself out.”

He stared, mind blanking. Was this terror? He felt on edge and yet so, so tired.

She held her four arms up peacefully. “You’re shaking. Relax. I’m the healer. The overworked healer, mind you, who’d love to have this be ‘and then the Wyrm got back to his cot’ and not ‘and then Aerona called a guard to throw the Wyrm back to his cot.’”

He swallowed back an unexpected sob. He hated those options. He hated being called “Wyrm” when those were his options. She took a step forward and he didn’t take one back, but his heart raced. 

“You’re tired,” she said soothingly, and he hated the small part of him put at ease by this. “You’ll feel better after some rest. C’mon.”

She offered him a hand and he gingerly took it. The weight of his exhaustion washed over him and his legs nearly gave out; it was all he could do to manage the few steps across the room and curl back up in the cot. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

* * *

A hummed tune he didn’t recognize woke him. His head leaned against golden bars that glimmered in lampbug light, and he scrambled away from them. He hit more with a loud thud.

The humming stopped. Raja looked up from a desk, blinked at him like she had not instrumented him being shoved in a shiny cage, then beamed.

“Good,” she glanced out a window. “Afternoon.”

He sniffed and lifted his head with mastered regal disdain. She laughed, and it would have been more biting if it wasn’t so warm. “Fair enough. I was wondering when you’d wake up. Aerona said you were healed a week ago.”

That was the end of Raja’s conversation. She resumed writing something. At some point she left and returned with snacks. She tended to a bow hanging on the wall. Left again. Night had well fallen by the time she returned again. Still she did not address him again. It was maddening, not aided by the fact he only had the cage, the bottom of the desk, a chair, a sliver of window across the room, and the side of the bed to look at. Said bed had a deep green comforter stitched with yellow flowers, and he had counted the fifteen flowers he could see far too many times already.

Finally, as she seemed about to retire, he said, “What.”

“Hm?” she asked sleepily, fluffing a pillow.

“What. What do you want? What are you doing?”

“Thinking,” she said. “I have what I want right now.”

“So I’m just going to sit here?”

“Yup! I’ll think of something to have you do, probably. The traps around your palace were interesting. But yes, until then, you will just sit there, and I will admire my handiwork.”

This was ridiculous. “I have better things to do.”

She beamed again. “Not anymore. Good night, Wyrm. Don’t wake me up, or you will regret it.”

He huffed as she went to bed. He would regret it, pft.

He did not wake her up.

* * *

He did not sleep. If he’d been out for a week, he probably wouldn’t need rest for a good while, and it was a hard thing to force on himself. 

It did not help that his mind was racing. If Raja was of Hallownest, she did not care, and he couldn’t be sure she even was. She did not immediately strike him as cruel, but he doubted there was much of a better nature to appeal to. At least, not towards him; God Tamers tended to see gods as a test of skill, something to overcome, be it through killing them or collecting them. A sufficiently powerful god did not need to worry about them, as even the greatest of Tamers were still mortal. 

He shut his eyes. His foresight was vague at the best of times, but now it was a muddled mess. He leaned back against the bars and sighed, glaring at the shackle. He suppressed the urge to bang it against the cage, instead hugging his knees.

He should have never left in the first place. Then at least he could be dead by another god’s hand, instead of stuck in some stupid cage by some stupid bug because he was a stupid god who spent so long doing nothing he forgot how to even defend himself. 

He turned and examined the bars. He could just wrap his hands around them, and when he scratched at it the gold flaked off. A gliding, then. The iron beneath was still something he could handle, but not as easily. He glanced back to ensure Raja was still asleep, then pulled at a bar. It slowly began to bend, and he was feeling much better, this time he could manage a climb down a window and-

Something sparked, bouncing once, twice between two bars before hitting him in the nose. He’d been struck by lightning before, and while it wasn’t near as bad, the sudden current through him made his eyes water. The smell of burnt carapace made it all the worse.

“Dumb Wyrm,” Raja murmured sleepily. She stretched with audible cracks before rolling over. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled up, gently rubbing his nose.

* * *

“-rm. Wyrm. Hey. C’mon,” Raja said, prodding his shoulder and pulling him from his stupor. “You alright from your little zap?”

“I’m fine,” he said dully. 

“Great! Because I had a thought last night. Did you make all those traps? At the palace?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Are chainsaws like, your only thing? My scouts mainly reported those.”

“No.”

“Super cool. My thought, see, was you saw the traps I made right?”

“Yes.”

“And my weapons and stuff? I didn’t really have to use them, but you like, saw them right? Pretty cool, huh.”

“Neat.”

“Yeah, so my thought was you invent me some new traps and such. I’ve never had a god that tinkers! It’ll be so cool.”

“No.” Most other gods would be content to let him rot here; he supposed there was no reason he should care if he helped Raja go after others. He supposed it was his pride speaking, as tattered as it was.

“Dear Wyrm, you misunderstand your position. It wasn’t really a question. You _will_ invent for me.”

He glared. She met his gaze, head tilting every so slightly. Her eyes were not angry so much as absolutely certain. She would win this. He hated it. He hated her. 

“Wyrm,” she said.

“No.”

She crouched closer to him. “I understand this is a new position for you.”

“Don’t.”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoke. “You will invent for me because I am patient, but not indefinitely so. Gods are hard to kill, and that makes them easy to torture.”

He looked away, a nervous chirrup escaping him and a tightness forming in his chest. What did she expect him to even make? He’d drafted tons of designs, specifically for gods, for the Radiance, and nothing-

What if Raja went after the Radiance? Most bugs did not know the source of the infection. He could test things on whatever gods she traipsed after and them amplify their effects afterward. Then Hollow could kill a weakened Raja. He took a steadying breath, the tightness loosening.

“Wyrm.”

Another meek chirrup. He wanted to tell himself it was entirely a ruse, but she grasped a bar and his heart raced. “Yes.”

She brightened and stood back up. “We’ve reached an understanding?”

“Yes.”

“Great! I’ll set up a workshop for you. It’ll be fun, Wyrm, you’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it!


	3. Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly it's mostly mundane, and the Pale King doesn't know how to handle this.

For three days he was stuck in the cage, ignored by Raja and alone with his thoughts. This was too long for him to be free of the cloud brought by dreams, as he turned every previous action over and over in his head. He had been so certain of himself before, from the moment he chose to cast off his larger form and build Hallownest to when he placed the final seal on the Black Egg. He wished he could regain a sliver of that single-minded confidence.

Look where it got you, he reminded himself, and he pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes with a sigh. 

“Raja,” he said. She ignored him, licking the tips of her fingers to turn a book page. “Do you know the state of Hallownest?”

“I’m not feeding your obsession with your old bug collection.”

It was- “It was not a _bug collection_.”

She looked up. “You’re telling me you _didn’t_ grant bugs sentience and establish a kingdom, with you as the king, so they could worship you.”

“It was not a collection.”

“Can you even name a bug from Hallownest?”

“Lurien,” he said immediately. “Herrah.”

She clicked her tongue. “Alright. You established a possible emotional connection, and I’m very proud of you. But I stand by my theory it was primarily to feed your ego.” A long pause. “Your silence tells me I’m right.”

She was. He focused on the many stitched flowers instead.

* * *

“Hey,” she said, breaking his thoughts. “Wanna see the workshop? Trick question, of course you do, just act excited.”

“Yay,” he said. 

“Like two percent more excited.”

“Yay,” he said, giving a thumbs up without actually looking at her. A soft “pft,” and the door opened.

It had not been big enough for him to stand so he had to crawl out, trying to maintain the slightest bit of dignity as he stood and winced at how cramped his limbs were. “Follow,” she said, and he wordlessly did so.

Raja’s room led to a hallway lined with small paintings of other bugs. They were of similar build and color, so he guessed them family. This opened up to a den, complete with plush chairs and a crackling fireplace, a large cooking pot simmering something that smelled amazing. He’d apparently forgotten the names of the herbs. He didn’t need to eat, but his stomach still yawned. 

“Tragic,” Raja said, leading him outside. 

Her home was in a cave, lengthwise so every room had potential access to a window outside. A green field dotted with flowers and colorful stone buildings spread before him, bugs milling about and waving as they passed. Raja waved back.

He supposed it made sense a small community would form around her efforts. It was an expensive one that required allies, bugs willing to follow her most anywhere. There was a surprising lack of defenses, a single guard tower draped with her banner at the field’s center. Raja was unarmed. He could burrow away long before she had time to stop him, but the call whispered against this and he found himself not even breaking stride as he followed her across the field and into a small, yellow and brown stone building.

There were two windows, facing towards Raja’s home and opposite of it, overlooking the field. The walls were lined with empty shelves and crates overflowing with material. A long table held various tools, rolls of parchment, and a small alchemy stove pressed in the corner. Under the closest window was a cot. 

“There’s a smithy over there,” and Raja pointed out a window towards a larger building. “If you need something made, go ask Flint, he’s an excellent smith.”

“Leave? And go ask?”

Raja demonstrated the door opening and closing. He, to his own immense credit, did not roll his eyes. “Yes, I know how doors work. You tend to lock them. And put electric glyphs on the wall.”

“Maybe there are more glyphs somewhere. Maybe there aren’t. It’s part of my fun.”

* * *

Months passed. He had meant to be difficult, but he was so relieved to have a distraction he threw himself into his work, be it repairing snares or brewing various potions. It was slower without his magic to aid him, but it also meant since he had to focus entirely on what in front of him, there was no space for other thoughts.

Flint, who almost never spoke around him, argued with Raja that she did not need giant, spinning chainsaws. What was she doing to do with them? Throw them at bugs? Put them around her house until a bug-horse found a way to knock it over? He would not make them. Raja whined, gave him big eyes, then with a heavy sigh agreed to drop the idea.

This did not stop her from wanting to know about seals, particularly the ones she’d found around Hallownest. He showed her some; one to create a wall of Soul to trap a creature in, another to briefly tangle and slow. 

Raja did not have sufficient Soul to power them. He offered to. She laughed and told him no. There were spellcasters around anyway.

He was not always busy, though, and the worst part was being alone. He’d always had the presence of his lady, or a knight, a servant awkwardly stuck nodding along as he rambled half-formed ideas to them, or even Hollow to keep him company. He found his book on a shelf by the cot, but reading it only made him feel lonelier, even when he approached it with the intent of understanding the call partially keeping him here. For all the many writers it had, nothing shed any light on his situation.

“Carry this,” Raja said one morning, handing him a bag. He shouldered it wordlessly. “And bring that.” She pointed to a cart holding a single crate just outside the door.

He followed her through the field and into the forest beyond. He stumbled over numerous roots and vines, the wheels of the cart catching on what felt like everything, while Raja continued on her way without comment. Eventually they hit another stretch of field and he could keep up.

“Where are the others?” he asked.

“Other what?”

“Gods.” 

“Oh,” she said. “Dunno.”

Dunno- how did she not know? “But-”

“It would be incredibly stupid of me to house, say, eight gods at my house, even if they are all tamed. You get ideas,” she gave him an amused look. “You might even start working together.”

“Unlikely,” he said immediately. 

She laughed. “I know. It’s adorable. But still, it’s a lot to keep an eye on. When I get bored I take a token and then sell them. There are plenty of wealthy bugs who find the idea of owning a god… I believe the last word used was ‘exquisite.’”

“Excuse me,” he said flatly.

“Exchange-”

“I know what selling is,” he snapped. He chirruped apologetically at her expression. 

“Hm.” And that was the last she said of it.

They walked until dusk, finally stopping at another forest where she gestured for him to put everything down. The crate contained simple snares, a tent. For hunting, he realized. Regular game. He’d been dragged out to be attendant to simple hunting. 

She unloaded everything, showing him how to set up the tent and firepit. He watched dully, sinking further and further into his own thoughts. Raja gave him an extra quiver of bolts and told him to follow, quietly. He did so. Interest was something he could not feign, and he was relieved when she did not ask it of him. She was an excellent hunter, bringing down bird-like bugs with the ease of practice, but he expected this.

They stayed out for two days, a fair amount of time spent meandering about for berries, herbs, and fungi before heading back. By the time they reached the proper field again, he’d decided he never wanted to see another cart again.

* * *

He amended his thought; the actual worst part was the heat. A part of him knew he was being dramatic. Another part of him argued dramatics was arguably his thing, so let him be.

Between the nearby smithy, the now near constant bubbling of the alchemy table, and the small size of the building he oft stayed in, he was so, so hot. Keeping the windows open only helped so much, even when the surrounding trees turned orange and yellow and a cooler breeze rippled the grass. 

One day he woke to snow blanketing everything. Without a second thought he clambered out the window and into the fresh fall against the building. He buried his face in it. Sweet, sweet cold.

At some point he heard a door open. Quiet. Then footsteps nearby.

“Wyrm,” Raja said from the window, her voice edged with fading anger. “What are you doing?”

“Cold,” he said into the snow.

“What?”

He lifted his head. “Cold.”

He face planted again.

A long pause, then a laugh. “It’s freezing in here.”

“No,” he said, burrowing deeper into the snow. 

“Wyrm-” He poked his head back out.

“Cold,” he said again.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay. You are clearly incoherent until you get this out of your system. Is this a Wyrm thing or a you thing?”

“Both,” he hummed, shutting his eyes.

Once the snow had fallen it seemed here to stay. He was happy to keep the windows open and let it drift in, even if it melted shortly after. He was cleaning up a fresh puddle when Raja kicked the door open, as she was want to do, and told him to come see what she’d been working on for the past month. 

A fair distance from her home, a large stone door of fifty or so feet led to a much, much larger chamber tunneled into the cliff side.

“Do you think it’s big enough?” Raja asked.

“For what?”

“A Wyrm.”

Oh. He craned his neck. He would only fit in here if he’d coiled up, and it would have been quite uncomfortable. “Perhaps a small one.”

“It’s nearly three hundred feet up,” Raja said incredulously. 

“I was,” he had to think for a minute. “Seven hundred and thirty two.”

“You were. Seven hundred feet.”

“Give or take ten in either direction. It’s sort of a ‘you’re really good at estimating,’ not an exact measurement.”

“You are now shorter than I.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t compensating for anything when I took my new form,” he said mildly. “And I found the tenacity of ants admirable.” 

“Were you large for a Wyrm?”

“Hm,” he said, wiggling a hand a bit. “It’s more of an age thing.”

“Are you old for a Wyrm?”

“Not really. I’m not young, but in the time frame of immortality, no, I’m not old.”

“I studied you, specifically. There were records, I could study your old corpse… what I could find at least… I didn’t realize… seven hundred… but there were records of your coming and going, I could piece together what sort of magic to expect based on how you were described. Studying Wyrms in general? Very difficult. I didn’t even know they had some obsession with snow until you face planted into some.”

“It’s not an obsession,” he said. “It’s just very cold, and the room was very hot-”

“And Wyrm’s crave cold. That’s new to me.”

“It’s cold underground,” he said. “We burrow. Unless it’s snowing this above ground nonsense isn’t worth it.”

“Oh, how you suffer. Above freezing temperates.”

“I do, thank you for recognizing this.”

Raja snorted, looking back to her creation. Nothing at all? the thought sneaked into his head. She’s preparing for a proper Wyrm, and your reaction is ‘maybe a small one?’

He stamped it out. It was not as though any of them cared about him, and he knew of no Wyrm that couldn't leave her a broken shell while lazily burrowing away. She'd no doubt convert this into a cage for another being.

* * *

Winter left, returned, and left again. He kept the journal, the task he’d given himself occasionally surfacing, but it was harder and harder to… care.

His desperation for even an acquaintance, someone to talk to that wasn’t Raja, led him to realizing there were no bugs here to fill that role. All the bugs here followed Raja, who never went out of her way to hurt him but also never hesitated to test a new weapon or trap on him if it was convenient. Her fellow hunters mostly ignored him, save for having him carry things. Flint, he’d learned, suffered from mutism that seemed all the worse whenever he was nearby. 

Raja’s spellcaster, Barb, was a silvery ant—lighter than his own deep gray—in a pale yellow scarf. She was also one of the few bugs he’d seen so far with a mask, a simple oval with two small horns, splotches of off-white revealing the brighter white was paint.

If she had any opinions on his chosen form, she kept them to herself. She was brisk and to the point, the entirety of their interactions about magic. Show her the seals. Describe how they were powered. Write down the appropriate spells. She was a natural, memorizing the designs and sketching them on a roll of parchment herself before creating a wall-seal as potent as any he’d seen before. She’d return if she had any questions, and she expected new seal designs. She’d shut the door in his face before he could reply.

Aerona had sympathy, encouraging Raja to put cooling stones in the building, but also seemed indifferent to preventing more of the various cracks and dents in his carapace. He could have mended them himself, but his magic remained out of reach. The aches made him feel far too mortal, the balm Aerona offered even more so. 

Eventually he lost track of the winters; what did he gain from knowing how long it’d been? He was staring at the alchemy stove, distantly aware that the beaker was overflowing and he should stop it, but incapable of mustering the energy to do so, when the door slammed open. It often did. He continued staring.

“Wyrm,” Raja’s voice, directly by his face. He looked at her.

She was beaming. “Clean up that mess and meet us by the smithy. We’re going god-hunting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this too many times plblblb.


	4. In the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyrms are renown for their wisdom. Unfortunately, this comes with age.

Flint was finishing up repairs to a crossbow when he trundled up. The smith gave him an impassive look before handing it to ever cheerful Raja. Four other hunters and Barb were waiting by a small cart piled with backpacks and crates.

“Where…” he croaked. Barb glared and he cut himself off. Where were they going to put them?

This didn’t seem to concern any bug present, and if they all got flattened that sounded like a plus to him. They gathered their things, Barb handing him a sling of scroll cases, and they set off into the snow. The single bug-horse pranced through the drift nearby, carrying a broken off part of its salt lick. He was certain by this point it was just someone’s pet, and not here for any actual purpose.

He wanted to sink back into his thoughts, as empty as they’d become, but Barb kept snapping her fingers and demanding his attention. She had drawn three seal designs on a roll of parchment. 

“They seem fine,” he said dully. He gathered they were for a round-wall, and a massive one given the markings surrounding it.

She tapped the bottom of the parchment, to a fourth, incomplete seal. He squinted. No, this wasn’t a seal; the external markings were too loose, almost reaching for something. Another seal, perhaps? The internal glyph roughly read Soul Move. 

“I have been working on smaller glyphs that edit seals,” Barb said. Reminded. He vaguely recalled being told about this some time ago, and he supposed he’d done something to help, but everything was becoming a blur. “And can be added and removed as needed, without affecting the integrity of the base.”

“Oh. Yes.” All the trees were dead, making it easier to pick his way through the forest. 

“This one,” she tapped the incomplete one. “Is to move this one.” The largest of the three complete ones.

On their way seemed incredibly last minute to figure this out. “Um,” he said, taking the parchment so he could examine it closer. The base seal was too contained. It would work disgustingly well he imagined, but the larger and more intricate the seal, the more resilient they were. 

“Tree,” Barb said mildly. He stopped, looked up at the tree he was two feet from, and stepped around it. Looked back at the parchment.

“The base seal needs a feed like the addition,” he said.

“Won’t that damage its integrity?”

“If you make the addition only have one feed, and then close off the rest, that should compensate for it-”

“So I’ll need another glyph that’s just to close off the feed,” she said, taking the parchment back. “Hhm. Okay.”

Save for showing him a sketch every now and then, she left him alone and became absorbed in her task. After three days of travel, during which the most exciting he did was keep watch each night, she showed him the completed seals. Again, they seemed fine. She hurried off to show Raja, and though he couldn’t make out the words, her tone sounded delighted.

They ventured in snowy mountains, providing a welcome chill. They set up a proper camp after another two weeks travel in a small ravine, with the tents, campfires, and banner he’d come to despise lurking just outside his palace.

Two bugs left to attempt and locate the god, and they spent nearly a week simply waiting. He felt this was a clear sign they were long gone, but Raja seemed confident. They returned, gave a thumbs up, then turned back around. They followed as quietly as possible.

* * *

“That,” Raja said softly, pointing down into the clearing.

He almost didn’t see them in the snow, the Wyrm’s white hide glittering much like the drift around them. A portion of their body was still underground, the upper part curled up in the snowbank. He’d rested plenty of times like this, where he could get some fresh air while still able to burrow away at a moment’s notice. He was surprised they hadn’t stirred yet. The snow around the bank wasn’t that thick, and Wyrms were usually sensitive to vibrations.

“Barb,” Raja whispered. The ant scooted forward, holding up a stone tablet she’d etched her seals in to and charging it with Soul.

He was used to barriers taking some time to set. He blinked and ethereal walls encircled the Wyrm, the melting snow suggesting it also went under them. The Wyrm woke and recoiled, hit the barrier, then unearthed themselves entirely with a scream.

The rest of the body was… not as much as he’d been expecting. This Wyrm was but a fraction of a fraction of what his form had been, they- 

They were a hatchling. He could not remember the last time he’d seen a baby Wyrm. Some gods could breed like rabbits; Wyrms could not. Most clutches never hatched, and the few that did often died the same day. It was so taxing fewer and fewer even tried. He’d consoled and then gone separate ways with two other Wyrms himself.

“W- wait,” he croaked. “Raja.”

She ignored him, gesturing for the others to finish setting up nail-throwers. He hurried over and grabbed her arm. “Raja.”

“Not now,” she snapped, shrugging him off.

“Raja, please, listen,” he stepped in front of her as she loaded her crossbow, tapping the tip against his nose. He did his best to ignore it.

“Move, Wyrm.” 

“Please-” This wasn’t even a fair fight. It wasn’t even a fight; they probably had little control of their magic, no understanding of seals, and no reason to believe anything could threaten them. 

“I will shoot you in the eye and make you move.” He believed that.

“They're a baby, please-”

“So?”

“We don’t- we don’t reproduce. Successfully. That often.” Terra, this could be perhaps their first or second outing from the nest. He realized with a pang he’d missed their first hatchday, as such an event would result in every Wyrm being informed. Which meant they were what, not even two hundred? Maybe three hundred? “ _Please_.”

“Wyrm,” she said slowly. “Listen to me. This is an unexpected and endearing trait. But you forget yourself.”

“Please,” he said desperately. “If you want a Wyrm, I will turn back into my original form. I will do whatever you want. Please, Raja, let them go, surely this was barely even a hunt-”

She tapped his nose again. “I,” she said. “Own you. Now move.”

“I am willing to grovel,” he managed through his tattered pride.

“You will do so with a bolt through your eye if you do not _move_.”

The hatchling screamed again as a bolt from a thrower pierced them. That meant they still had their baby fur, not proper chitin. He stepped away from Raja, running over to the nearest bolt thrower and yanking the bolt out of the surprised hands of two bugs. “Hey!” Teetering slightly from the bulk, he ran it through the thrower itself. 

A hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Raja lifted her crossbow.

* * *

He sank into the drift and clutched his eye. He flinched away from the fresh pain when he touched the bolt, then pressed on the side again.

“A hit from the stock knocked you out, but a bolt through your head doesn’t? Tragic for you,” Raja said. She sounded distant, warbly. “Barb, put your moving thing on.”

Hemolymph was roaring far too loudly in his ears to hear anything after this, his head pounding with pain. He was pulled back into awareness when someone pressed a hand to his face and pulled the bolt out. Everything went white with pain for a long, long minute.

“Fuck,” he finally spat.

“I warned you. Hock, Aerona, put him in the cart. I want to get home sooner rather than later.”

He was pulled to his feet and he did not have the strength to resist. Hemolymph rushed when he was laid down, the vision in his good eye going spotty. Snow was packed against the injured one, offering a sliver of relief.

He could hear the hatchling keening through the barrier. Asides from their loud, verbal screaming, their telepathy weighed heavy on his mind. Telepathy was an ability he’d lost when he gave up his larger form. [Tiny-Wyrm! I want my-] an internal breath. [MOOOMMMMM-] It was impossible to sleep through all this, even with exhaustion tugging at him.

“Fuck,” he said again, his voice raspy.

“Fuck you too, Wyrm, that thrower was expensive,” Raja said from somewhere. “You okay, Barb?”

“I’m fine,” the ant said. The hatchling was no doubt draining her Soul as they thrashed against the barrier, but she did not sound stressed.

Eventually the hatchling stopped keening. [Tiny-Wyrm,] they mumbled. He tried to sit up, the green pillbug Hock shoving him back down.

* * *

He’d zoned out, his own breathing loud in his ears, for an undetermined amount of time when Aerona suddenly poured something into his eye and he shrieked in pain. The hatchling, previously quiet, began keening again. [Tiny-Wyrm! Are you dead? Tiny-Wyrm Tiny-Wyrm Tiny-Wyrm Tiny-Wyrm-]

“Stop it- _stop it_ ,” Aerona said as he thrashed. “God or not, I trust you don’t want an infection.”

He started to roll away and she held him in place. “Stop. It’s better if you stay still.”

“Terra,” he croaked. 

“Yes, I know. You’ve intoned that at least twenty times while you were staring at the sky.”

* * *

“It likes you,” Raja noted, tilting her head at the hatchling. He was begrudgingly following her again, after Aerona said the risk of infection was low now and Raja had said he could walk again then. He felt woozy and lightheaded and did not respond to her. “Wyrm.” [Tiny-Wyrm! You are not dead!]

He inclined his head enough to show he was listening. The motion sent a fresh wave of pain through him.

“Does it know you’re a Wyrm too?” [Is your telepathy broken?]

“I guess,” he said tersely. 

“Is it speaking to you?” [They ate your telepathy! Are they going to eat mine?]

“No.”

She gave him a critical look that he ignored. 

Eventually they made it back to Raja’s home. The hatchling was moved inside the cavern, which Barb lined with another set of seals before dropping the one currently containing them. They slammed against the seal with another cry.

It was smart. They could easily tunnel their way out otherwise. He hated it.

“Where are you going?” Raja asked.

“I,” he croaked. “Am going to bed.” He was exhausted in every sense of the word. 

She stared at him for a minute, then nodded. He trudged through the snow, fumbled with the door, shut it, collapsed in the cot and for the first time in an age, wept.


	5. Soul and Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King begrudgingly accepts he may need help.

He had hoped, despite the absolute shame of weeping in the first place, that it would allow him to sleep. This was not to be so, and he instead found himself staring at the ceiling, unable to think of any word for his current state other than mopey. He’d been better than this. Once. He’d also been nigh untouchable. Once.

The sun set and rose, and finally he forced himself to his feet. Exhaustion weighed at him, but he had to think of something to help the hatchling.

He knew the cavern was one hundred by three hundred. Uncomfortable dimensions for anyone but a hatchling, who could at least coil with some space to spare. This did mean there was no way for them to break the barrier by constant pressure, and he could not dismiss the seals himself. 

It was not until his magic was kept from him that he realized how much he depended on it in this smaller form. Sure, he was more resilient than any bug he knew, but he’d never bothered to learn nail or shield or bow. Why, he’d wondered an age ago, would he ever need those?

Focus, he scolded himself. Terra, his eye burned. He scratched it and immediately regretted it. He grabbed a bit of metal from a shelf and began fidgeting with it. 

Seals drained Soul from their caster when stressed. He’d overcome this by amending his seals to draw from the ambient Soul in the air first, and Hallownest had been heavy with it. It’d been a safe guard he’d kept to himself and he prayed held in his absence. Another option was to increase ones ability to absorb Soul into themselves. He used to absorb ambient Soul simply by being near it; he’d created the Vessels with the ability to absorb it from other creatures. 

He crushed the metal and folded it. What he really needed was time to study the barrier. 

Barb was intelligent, and it was possible she could figure out how to do one of these on her own, but it wasn’t certain. Perhaps he could offer to help her, should she not reach any solution of her own. He was loath to aid any bug here, but it would be leverage he desperately needed. 

He supposed he should see how much he could get away with. He set the metal down and reached for the door knob. Smacked the door instead. Kicked it in frustration before successfully opening it.

Barb was sitting in front of the barrier. She glanced behind her when the hatchling suddenly crooned, pressing themselves closer.

“Oh,” she said, looking back. “Here to plot, Wyrm?”

“I never plot,” he said. She snorted and nodded at the ground next to her. He sat on her other side so he could more easily see her. [Tiny-Wyrm! You are okay! I was very worried when you disappeared!]

“Right,” she said. “Your eye.”

A stretch of quiet, the hatchling pressing their tongue against the barrier, and then she said, “That was a bit much of her.”

“Hm.” It was a solid barrier. He would have to come back later so he could properly speak to the hatchling.

“I don’t suppose you know how to more easily maintain this,” Barb said.

“I might.”

“But you are no longer so keen to help me.”

“I am not.”

“That,” she said, getting to her feet. “Is fair enough. C’mon. I have my theories, and I can’t let you plot too easily.”

He stood—[Tiny-Wyrm!] The hatchling switched to a verbal keening that broke his heart—and followed Barb away from the cavern. 

* * *

Raja gave him a snare to repair and plans for two more. He ignored them. The one, singular benefit to all this was the need to free the hatchling was far stronger than the odd call that had previously subdued him. His head ached, but was also clearer than it'd been in years.

Later that night he gingerly stepped into the snow. A single light was on in Raja’s home, but everyone else seemed asleep. He burrowed through the drift and peeked out by the barrier. No one. He stood.

[Tiny-Wyrm!] The hatchling crooned.

“Sshh,” he said, holding his hands up and glancing back. 

[You can hear me!]

“Yes,” he said softly. “I just can’t use telepathy.”

[THEY ATE-]

“No,” he said, wincing. “I lost it when I became small.”

[You should become big again. Then you could bust me out!]

This was a thought. Perhaps as a last resort; he wanted to believe the magic that allowed him to revive would not be suppressed like the rest of it, but he did not want to test it just yet.

“It’s… complicated,” he said. “I will help you, I promise.”

[I know.] He swallowed thickly.

“You know the other ant?”

[Yeah.]

“She’s the one maintaining the barrier. Every time you stress a seal, though-”

[The pictures in the light?]

The pictures in the- that wasn’t inaccurate. “Yes. Every time you stress them, it drains some of her Soul-”

[I don’t wanna eat her soul!]

“How… old… are you?” he asked. They should at least know about Soul, it was a main component of their magic.

[Around two hundred moons,] the hatchling said cheerily. 

That wasn’t even twenty years. He’d known hatchling grew rapidly, but they still shouldn’t be _anywhere_ away from the nest at this age. He was dealing less with a teenager and more with a grubling who just figured out how to run. “Wh- did your parents-”

[My mum said I was too small for any adventuring. So I went on one!]

“You’re in a cage,” he croaked.

[… It’s not been a very good one,] they admitted, slumping. [I- I- I want my-]

“Please don’t cry,” he said hastily. The hatchling keened lowly and he glanced back again. “I know. It’ll be okay. It will be. The seals. You won’t literally drain her soul, just her magic, okay? I need you to smack against them as much as possible. Speed it up.”

[I get tired.]

Because you’re practically just hatched, he thought. “Just whenever you can.”

Another keen. [Okay.]

“Great. I need to go-”

[NNNOOO-] He winced. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be back.”

He burrowed back under the snow, peeking out by the door. The light in Raja’s house was off. He stood and crept back inside.

The building was empty. He sighed in relief and opened a window. He picked up the damaged snare; a part of him knew if he did nothing, the satisfaction may not be worth Raja's anger. There was always the chance she'd hurt the hatchling instead, as he'd made his affection for them painfully clear and she clearly had no qualms with hurting either of them. _They weren't bugs,_ she'd explained some time ago. _Just gods._

As he set about repairing the snare, he wondered if this was how the many vessels he'd discarded felt.


	6. Noise Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King has a terrible day, and the resident bugs are happy to make it worse.

Barb proved tenacious, even with the hatchling spending much of their time thrashing against the barrier and loudly keening for extra measure. Raja would have her lower a portion of it so she could enter the cavern, but her words were drowned out by the hatching’s noise and, from what he could gather, she did not attack the hatchling. She studied it, the seals, the wall, avoiding its bulk with the ease of practice.

He was working on one of the new designs a few days later—albeit barely, focused on trying to estimate Barb’s Soul reserve based on the slowly, slowly degrading state of the barrier and hating that the current guess was “massive”—and only realized Raja had entered when she slammed a hand on the desk. He jumped, a cord snapping back and pinging off a bit of metal. “Terra.”

“You’re going to help me with something,” she said. He continued to stare at the snare. “Now, Wyrm.”

He followed her to the cavern, where Barb was holding small holes in the barrier. The hatchling stuck its tongue on one, drool running down the light. A bolt thrower sat nearby, a pile of bolts with chains attached to their end next to it. [Tiny-Wyrm Tiny-Wyrm-]

“It shuts up around you. A miracle,” Raja muttered. “Barb tells me its thrashing means the barrier won’t last as long.”

“Unfortunate,” he said. Raja scowled.

“She assures me it will be a long, long time before she has to drop it, even with this in mind. This Wyrm is… different, though, from other gods I’ve tamed-”

“They are a hatchling.” Maybe the call was an adult trait. 

“Whatever. I have generously decided to give you an option. You can help me restrain it, and it’s much less painful all around, or I get the other bolt throwers and we embed the chains _in_ it, not around it.”

“That’s…” Either option hindered his plan, though if Barb’s reserve was truly as large as she made it sound… but it was possible Barb was lying. She’d already asked him for help, and that was when the hatchling wasn’t attacking the barrier. “Raja. Please. They are a hatchling, just let them-”

“No,” she snapped. “And if the next word out of your mouth isn’t ‘Yes,’ I’m getting the other bolt throwers.”

They had no chitin. It wouldn’t kill them but it would hurt, immensely, and he couldn’t put them through that. He chirruped meekly. “Yes.”

“Good. Now get it to stay still while we attached the chains.”

* * *

[NNNOOOOO-] the hatchling whined. He winced.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It won’t be for long. I promise.”

[You’re not chained up! That’s not fair!] They hissed at Raja as she walked over.

“You’re much bigger than I,” he reminded me, glancing at Raja. “Please.”

[But I-HEY.] Raja lifted her crossbow, but instead of a bolt a large, silvery net shot out of it, wrapping around the hatchling’s maw. 

“I should have done that earlier,” she sighed. “Peace and quiet. Will it behave?”

“They…” [I want! My! MOOMMMMMM-] “Yes.”

“Great,” she said, nodding at the other bugs. [TINY-WYRMMMM-] He pet them through the netting, swallowing. The chains were wrapped around their neck, segments of their body, then fired through the bolt thrower into the holes in the barrier, locking them in place. 

“And you,” Raja said sharply. “Lied to me.”

He lowered his hand. “I… did?” About what? The hatchling was behaving, or at least as well as any hatchling would, he felt. 

“You did not seem to doubt that the hatchling would listen to you. You were clearly replying to it. It has spoken to you before.”

Dread creeped into him. Oh. He hadn’t thought of that. “I…” 

“Have been here long enough. This,” she nodded at the restrained hatchling. “Was frankly the last thing I really needed your help with. I’m sure I can find someone interested in you.”

The dread knotted in his stomach, and a lightness washed over him as he fully processed her words. “R- Raja- the hatchling-”

“Doesn’t need a babysitter, and you being around it clearly affects you. I don’t like it. The charm of having a small Wyrm has worn off.” [TINY-WYRRMMMM-]

“I-”

“Enough. Get out of my sight. Try anything, and you will not be the one to suffer for it.”

He took a nervous step back. He had to stay here, he could not just be sent away like… like a package... he-

“Now!” she snapped. He chirruped and forced himself to head back to the building.

* * *

He wanted to break something. Or cry. Or have a grand plan materialize in his mind. Or all of the above.

None of this happened, his train of thought immediately cut off by the fact Flint sat on the building’s single stool.

“What?” he asked tersely. 

“I have a story to tell you,” Flint hummed.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re having a terrible day. I know. I was watching. It’s why I chose now,” Flint said, sighing happily. “It’s the little things in life that give me joy now.”

“Get out.”

“Shush. Besides, I think you do want to hear my story. It’s about Hallownest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King is an idiot trying to be a Ravenclaw when he's really a Hufflepuff. In this essay I will...


	7. Flint's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King learns the fate of Hallownest.

The Pale King crossed the room and sat on the edge of the cot. He nodded curtly at Flint.

“I grew up in Hallownest,” Flint said. “The City of Tears, to be specific. I’d always admired the grandeur of it all; the architecture, the eternal downpour, the shimmering knights. And you, the ever elusive king. They said that you shone brighter than the palest ore, that you could cleave mountains with a wave of your hand.”

Flint looked him over, then said, “I must say, you’ve been quite the letdown.” 

“Sorry,” he replied tersely. 

“Hmh.” For a few minutes Flint stopped speaking, staring out the window. Then he swallowed thickly, saying, “My parents believed in you. In your plan. They sang your praises and, perhaps worst of all, they sang the praises of your Hollow Knight.”

“It-”

“Failed,” Flint said. “And I think you knew it would. Oh, sure, it was fine for a while. Years, even. My parents gave every geo they had to your stupid fountains. You would provide, they said, as you always did.

"Then a crier, on a day as normal as any other, ran through the streets. They couldn’t keep the secret anymore. You’d been gone for months. Not a whisper of your voice or a hint of your carapace. Just gone. The entire castle gone with you. The illusion you’d left behind faded a few days later.

"You’d given no word. No explanation. For another two years, everything was fine regardless. Stories had spread, of course. You’d abandoned us. You’d hidden something in the castle and needed to be rid of it. You’d died, and without your presence the castle simply wilted like a flower. It was the first one we all eventually settled on, but you’d left us a peaceful kingdom. We could accept it.

"Then bugs went to sleep and some did not wake up. Not for days. And when they did, their eyes burned with a fire and they hungered endlessly. They’d sought your Light and been answered by another.”

“You’re lying,” he hissed. He’d gone through hundreds, _thousands_ of constructs, reshaped thousands of Void-born consciouses, discarded thousands of masks himself, all to create a perfectly hollow vessel. All to save Hallownest.

Flint ignored him. “Panic spread. More bugs succumbed. The City of Tears was closed off in desperation. Food was plentiful. Then scarce. Then nonexistent. My parents refused to turn on those still uninfected.

"I refused to let us die. I…” He swallowed again. “Told our neighbors I’d found some berries in an old storage room. They let me into their home. 

"I told my parents I’d found some wandering tiktiks. They had no reason to doubt me, and it was the first real meal we’d had in months.”

No. No no no. That meant Hollow…

Wasn’t hollow. That was impossible, he’d been certain, he’d- he’d-

He’d been keen to return because Hollow did not deserve its fate. But he’d been certain its fate eternal until he decided otherwise, but if it was not, if it was flawed, if she was returning-

Hollow. The Dreamers. They were safe from external dangers, but hadn’t Raja proved dreams could lead to dreams? 

“One day,” Flint continued, pulling him from his thoughts. “I could not wake them. Days and days passed, and I waited, hoping, praying, only for them to wake with orange eyes.”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. It felt empty. 

“I ran,” Flint whispered. “I couldn’t kill them. I went through the Waterways. There are things down there free of infection but mad in their own right. Things I’d kill only for them to get up again. I…”

Flint wiped his face. “When I got out of the Waterways, I… I could not find a friendly bug. It couldn’t have taken me more than a week but so, so far had the infection spread. And there would be this… this _scream_ … from somewhere far above… and it seemed to enrage the bugs… sleep only brought a horrible Light… I was so certain, so many times, that I was about to die. 

"I was never much of a digger, but I couldn’t face what was possibly waiting above. I dug, away, until I couldn’t dig any more and my fingers were bleeding and still I dug anyway. Finally, finally, I felt far away enough. Finally I dug up.

"It was raining. I wanted to cry. I was so sick of rain. I think I just sat there, bawling, for at least a day. Long after the rain had stopped. A traveling merchant found me, gave me some food and guided me to the nearest town. 

"A part of me wanted to settle down. Forget Hallownest and just start anew. I couldn’t, though. A larger part of me was angry. I wanted revenge for what had happened to my family, my friends, my City.

"Raja came by the town some time later with a sad looking dragonfly. Said she was recruiting bugs looking to hunt the greatest prey of all: gods. This,” he waved vaguely around them. “Was established shortly after. God Tamers weren’t new, but they weren’t common. She didn’t get many bites. 

"But even if she was simply exaggerating, I was angry. I wanted even the slightest chance to help hunt the beings who were so willing to use bugs in their battles between each other. I offered her my expertise as a blacksmith. She accepted; she’d just lost her, after all. It happens in this line of business.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, it somehow feeling emptier than before.

“You can imagine how I felt,” Flint said lowly. “When, after years and years and years, she said we were going after a Wyrm. Particularly one no longer in their proper form. One shrouded in dreams.”

He could. He could also understand the mutism that had fallen on him after; so much grandeur, so much pain, so much waiting, for… him? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. “I can’t stay here,” he croaked. “Flint-”

“You didn’t know.” There was still anger, but it was edged in something else. Perhaps confusion. Perhaps understanding. Perhaps, somehow, a bit of both.

“Of course not! Flint, I-”

“I won’t help you,” Flint said curtly. His gaze soften, if barely. “But I won’t stop you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, TPK? Why'd you put your Palace below the sewers. Why.


	8. Motivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King, as he is want to do, has a terribly stupid idea.

Flint left. For a long time he sat there, holding his head, telling himself not to wallow but unable to do anything else. He’d doomed Hallownest, could not _leave_ lest he make things worse for the hatchling, could not stay but struggled to come up with another plan. He stood, crossing the room and clutching the alchemy stove and, his grip tightening enough to bend a part of the metal, reminded himself destroying the workshop would not help. Nothing helped. 

If Raja was tired of him… how long would he be here? Where would he go? He paced the room, fidgeting with his hands, trying to think of something. Anything.

He did not know how long he did this, mind agonizingly blank, when Raja’s voice pulled him out of it. “You done?” she asked, standing in the doorway.

“No,” he said.

“Well, I’ve sent out letters to my usual buyers, and I don’t trust you to not run off-”

“You have the hatchling,” he said dully. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“- and you haven’t come up with anything useful in a while. C’mon.” 

He sighed, following her outside and towards her home. Letters could travel swiftly by maskfly, and he did not know how far these buyers were, or how these sales were usually conducted. All he knew was that time was short, he needed a plan, and he had a foul taste in his mouth.

She led him into her room, pointing at the same, gilded cage from years ago. “You will wait here,” she said. 

He had no desire to do so. She continued to point. He did not move. “Wyrm.” 

“Raja,” he said. “I understand you hate the gods, but please-”

“I do not,” she said. “I find the lot of you fascinating. Now get in the cage.”

“No.” He took a step back. “Raja, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me.”

“Because you had no choice, and you still have no choice, unless you are happy with letting the hatchling suffer because of your decisions.”

“Raja-”

“You are testing my patience. Cage. Now.”

He chirruped softly, crawling into the cage and hugging his knees when she slammed the door shut.

She left, and after simply staring at the stitched flowers for too long, he shut his eyes and leaned against the bars. Sleep did not come to him, and he did not want it to, but he was still so tired.

* * *

“-not going to argue your bugs vs gods point,” Aerona’s voice as the door opened. “I do agree. He is not acting _irrational_ though. You are hurting him far more than you did in the past. You’re hurting a baby. Yes, I know it’s a baby god, but it’s a still a _baby_. I imagine we’d get just as protective of grublings we aren’t related to.”

One of them poked him. He did not react. “Did you knock him out?”

“No,” Raja said testily. “He does sleep, you know.”

“I am aware. You are just trigger happy, so I can never be sure.”

Aerona shook his shoulder and he continued to feign sleep. “Just put it in the cage,” Raja snapped.

Something was placed against him, Aerona taking a hand and placing it over it. It felt like some sort of leather bag. “Great,” Raja said. “May your guilt be assuaged. You can go now.”

“Alright alright, I know you need your eight hours of sleep but dang,” Aerona huffed. The door shut.

He waited until he heard Raja settle into bed before opening his eyes. It was dark, but squinting he could make out it was a bag with a single strap. Inside was his book. He’d all but forgotten about it given recent events; as he gently flipped through it, he was grateful Aerona had not. 

It offered him no wisdom, but the scent of old books was not a common one anymore and it brought some comfort. He tucked it back into the satchel.

* * *

The electric runes, he was displeased to learn the next day, remained. He at least wanted to have a way out ready, and he had chosen to pry at two closer to the wall so he could lean against them to hide his progress. The effort took far more out of him now, though—especially as he worked through the constant surge of electricity—and he had to stop whenever Raja returned. 

“Are you just going to mope?” she asked a few days later.

“Yes.”

She laughed. It was still warm, almost inviting, and he hated it. “How quickly your spirit faded. Ah well. Consider this,” she nodded at the cage. “Practice for your future.”

He looked away. Maybe he could get out and hide nearby; even without his magic, he knew he was a better digger than any of these bugs. It would come at a cost to the hatchling, one that made his heart ache, but if he was taken elsewhere… no. He had to stay near the hatchling. 

Several more days passed. Raja was sound asleep and he was prying at the bars, eyes watering when a spark bounced against his shackle and fizzled out. He stopped, staring.

It had not hurt him. Or at least, he didn’t think it had. It suppressed magic… all this time, had it been _any_ magic it came in contact with, not just his? Shakily, praying it would be quiet, he pressed the shackle against a bar. Electricity coursed through him and then after five or so seconds stopped, the rune fading. Raja snoozed on.

“Oh,” he whispered. 

He had a terribly stupid idea.

* * *

He finally managed to bend two bars enough to wiggle out, slinging the satchel over his shoulder as he did so. This was a very stupid idea, he told himself, opening the door. It creaked. He froze. Raja slept. He stepped into the hallway and shut the door. 

The door was locked from the inside, the key left in the knob. Fresh snow was falling, the field quiet and washed in moonlight as he hurried to the cavern. 

The hatchling stirred. [Tiny-Wyrm,] they mumbled.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

[I can’t.]

“I mean in a minute.” He glanced back, then climbed the wall up to the closest chain. The tip was outside of the barrier, and after a minute of scrabbling, he had it dug out. He darted across the cavern entrance to reach the other.

Three were still embedded, but two were out. The hatchling let out a muffled coo. He shushed them.

“This is the stupid part,” he said. “If it works, try to pull the others out, then go. Okay? Tunnel as far as you can.”

Another muffled coo.

He glanced back again, swallowed, and pushed his hand against the barrier. For far too long, minutes that felt like hours, nothing happened. 

Then threads of the barrier sparked against the shackle, and he could press his hand further into the light. Agony splintered in his hand and he swallowed back cries. Abruptly the shackle melted, overloaded by the barrier’s magic and searing the tender chitin beneath it. His magic sprang to life but so cold it was hot, burning him from within. The darkness of the cavern lit up as his truesight returned.

He grabbed what he could of it and slammed it against the seals. The seals and then the barrier itself shattered into an iridescent rain of Soul, emitting an ethereal _haahhh_ and washing the fields in white. Pain made his vision spotty and hemolymph roared in his ears, but through it he could hear the hatchling thrashing against their bonds.

He staggered across the cavern and fumbled for a chain. Grasping it with his hand _hurt_ , nausea rolling through him. “P- pull,” he croaked, leaning back and pulling the other way; after too many seconds the chain snapped.

“WYRM!” Raja roared. He shakily lifted a hand towards her voice and conjured a barrier of his own. It was pure white, absent of the seals he meant to add but his magic felt like fire, not under his control so much as choosing to humor him in this moment. 

He heard the other chains break. [Friend,] the hatchling said. 

Their telepathy was so heavy. Or was it his magic? He didn’t know anymore. He groaned, sinking to his knees and clutching his head. His hand screamed against this. He just wanted the hatchling to go. If they were gone, whatever Raja did in retribution would be worth it.

The hatchling coiled around him, blocking out the light of his barrier before diving into the rock. He swallowed back a wave of sick.

* * *

He did not know how long the hatchling burrowed, sometimes changing direction, but he couldn’t fault them for wanting to put as much space between them and Raja as possible. All he knew was that everything hurt.

Finally the hatchling stopped, gently depositing him on the ground. He threw up before curling in on himself and clutching his hand.

[Tiny-Wyrm!] They gently nuzzled him and he groaned. [Are you okay?]

“Yes,” he croaked. “No. Terra.”

The carapace on his hand was splintered, fragments digging into the tender meat beneath it. His wrist was soft and sore. He shut his eyes and focused; the Soul he had stored responded, but he struggled to shape it to the minute details healing his hand would require. After a few minutes he gave up.

He shakily got to his feet, stepping into the mouth of the tunnel the hatchling had dug. It was too easy to follow. He swallowed back bile and placed his hands in the dirt.

Sending his magic _out_ , with no fine details, was easier. When he’d reached as far as he could he pulled, collapsing the tunnel. He suddenly felt lightheaded and stumbled back.

[Tiny-Wyrm,] the hatchling cooed, pressing their face closer. [Help.]

“Mmm,” he said. He stared, then grunted and pulled the netting away from their maw. They wiggled happily. 

“I’m…” Tired. “I’ll get the chains off later. Okay?”

[Okay,] the hatchling agreed. 

“Do you know where we are? We should head back to your nest, I imagine your mother is worried-”

[I’m lost,] the hatchling said, drooping their head. Of course they were. He patting their nose with his good hand, suppressing a sigh. At least they were in some unknown caverns miles and miles away from Raja. This was a massive improvement.

“That’s okay,” he finally croaked. “I am too. We’ll get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you all so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. Seriously, it means so, so much to me.


	9. The Town of Everspring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King learns that getting a hatchling to stay on task is a trick and a half, and visits a town to try and figure out where they are.

He expected to find his returned freedom invigorating. Perhaps he would later, but at that very moment, he just wanted to sleep. He shook it off; they had to get back to the hatchling’s nest. You have to rest at some point, a small part of him said. Shut up, he argued. Get the hatchling home. Face the Radiance. Somehow have this end well. Wait, he had to address his suddenly fickle magic at some point. Do that before facing the Radiance. _Then_ he could sleep. 

“Where is your den?” he asked again. Just in case.

[In a mountain,] the hatchling said cheerily. Terra give him strength. 

“Do you know which mountain?” He grabbed a chain around their neck—might as well work on them now, if he wasn’t actually going to sleep—and hissed as agony spiked through his hand. He pulled the chain in half and it clattered to the ground.

[Nnnoooo,] the hatchling said. They tilted their head. [We should find you a nice healer. My mum told me bugs have those.]

“I’m fine,” he grunted, pulling a second chain apart.

[I can get the others,] the hatchling said, nudging him away and nearly knocking him over.

“Okay,” he said, wincing as he flexed his hand. Would it be a bad idea to pull the broken carapace out? He had nothing to use as a bandage. Maybe he _should_ find a healer.

“We should go to the Summit.” It was an agreed upon meeting place for all Wyrms, albeit rarely, rarely used. With a hatchling missing, someone was bound to be there to help maintain communication during the search. There was also the hope their nest was nearby, as the Summit was arguably the safest place for a baby Wyrm and well worth relocating to. “I’m sure more than a few Wyrms are looking for you.”

[I don’t know where that is.]

“It’s fine. I just need to figure out where we are.” An excellent sense of direction underground only worked when he knew where he’d come from and Raja, perhaps intentionally, had never shown him a map, and he'd rarely viewed things from above ground. He should have asked someone the name of those mountains they’d found the hatchling in. “Can you bring us to the surface? Hopefully we can find a town without too much trouble.”

[But it’s scary up there,] the hatchling whined.

“You definitely shouldn’t come all the way up with me. Just get me near the surface, okay?”

[I gueesssss.]

“Thank you.”

* * *

He nervously peeked up through the dirt. His hand hurt, his magic still burned through him, and he felt a fear unbecoming a god. There were a few trees and numerous shrubs, no bugs but a path beaten into the dirt and a nearby sign. He stood up and hurried over to it. 

TOWN OF EVERSPRING  
15 MILES  
->

That was manageable. He sighed in relief and dug back down to the hatchling. They had broken the rest of the chains in his absence and were rolling about.

[I found a thing,] they informed him happily, coiling up neatly.

“That’s nice.”

[I ate it.] He rolled his eyes. “That’s nice,” he repeated. “We need to go northeast about ten miles. I don’t want you tunneling into a city if it’s partially underground. Okay?”

[It was spicy.] 

“Okay?” 

[Okay.] He climbed behind the hatchling’s head, clutching a fistful of fur with his good hand. 

Without the threat of Raja the hatchling was easily distracted, occasionally diving after creatures and snapping at them. He was loath to ruin their fun, but clinging to a Wyrm and hoping he didn’t fall off was not particularly enjoyable. He tugged at their fur. [Okaayyy.]

They brought him close to the surface again, digging out a little cavern. “Wait here.” They flopped over dramatically. “Great.”

* * *

The town had a handful of bugs trotting in and out of wide open wooden gates, but he could tell he was still garnering odd looks. The town had a circular layout with streets intersecting every other block or so; it probably made great sense to someone used to it. Stalls littered the edges of most every street, and colorful bushes and flowers hugged every building and grew through the stone roads. He pressed his hand to his chest and searched for an inn or cartographer. 

He found the former after a bit of wandering, a cozy looking red stone building with a wooden sign that read _The Wormy Apple_. Entering, it was much cleaner than the name suggested, bugs chattering around tables laden with food. It did smell of apples, like pie or if the cores were being used to help kindle a fire. Terra, he was hungry.

The bar was not ant-sized, and he had to awkwardly hop into a seat. 

“You’re new,” the innkeeper hummed, an orange and white striped potato beetle. “Here to try our famous red berry soup?”

“N- no, sorry,” he said. “I was wondering if you had a map I could borrow? Preferably of the whole country.”

The innkeeper glanced him over. “Got lost? Is that why you look like shit?”

“Yes and yes, thanks. A map?”

The beetle produced a well-worn roll of parchment. He thanked him and unrolled it. Much of it was vague with sections of detail, as he was used to with bug-drawn maps, but he recognized the general shape of the landmass. Hallownest was about two hundred and fifty miles to the southeast. The Icefall mountain chain, its largest and most central peak home of the Summit, was about seven hundred miles to the northeast. They could not have traveled more than fifty, maybe seventy escaping Raja; that was a massive distance for such a young Wyrm to travel. He sighed.

“Any luck?” the innkeeper asked.

“Oh. Yes. It’s just… very far,” he said, rolling up the map and offering it back. “Thank you.”

He took it back. “No problem. You know…” he glanced him over again. “There’s a healer in town, a caterpillar named Bluebell. A few buildings down from here. She’d probably see you for free.”

The Pale King felt a spike of anger that quickly faded. He couldn’t really be offended by this; he _was_ injured and he _did_ have no money. Glancing down, he realized his gray carapace was covered in mud and dirt where it wasn’t cracked or missing entirely. “Thanks.”

He left, and debated heading straight back to the hatchling. He could, he figured, only help them more by feeling better. He should at least get his hand looked at. Or at least be able to tell the hatchling he tried, should she turn him away.

The building was easy to find. It was bright blue, and had a sign shaped like a bell that read “Bluebell’s Clinic.” It was cute. He sort of hated it.

“Hi!” Bluebell, or at least who he guessed was Bluebell, was bright green with black and yellow spots. She wore a white sweater that covered about eight of her many limbs. “Welcome to- goodness me dear, what happened to you? Are you okay? Don’t be silly, Bluebell, of course not. Come in, no, don’t back towards the door, I must insist!”

He stopped. “I’m fine,” he lied. There was too much sympathy in her voice. He did not want to ever elicit such an intense response from someone. 

“No, you are not,” she said firmly, crossing the room and ushering him towards a stool. “Sit.” He sheepishly did so. “What’s your name?”

He definitely waited a moment too long, the sympathy in her eyes only growing by the time he responded. “Gwyn.”

“I’m Bluebell. I was starting to worry you were going to say you didn’t have one.”

“Of course I have one,” he said testily. He simply wasn’t used to sharing it, though he supposed it would be better than “Wyrm” or “The Pale King.” Both left a sour taste in his mouth now.

“I don’t mean to offend. You wouldn’t be the first! Anyway,” she hummed. “Let me see your hand.”

He cautiously held it out. She held it gingerly, turning it about, sending stabs of pain through him. “Does it hurt?”

“Yup,” he whispered.

“Ah, sorry. This looks fairly recent. The last couple of days?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to pull the broken carapace out. It will hurt a lot, sorry, but it’s best this gets tended to sooner rather than later.” She opened a nearby drawer and pulled out a pair of tweezers. 

* * *

“Gwyn?” she asked, holding up the last fragment. 

“Fuck,” was all he managed. “A lot” had been horribly inaccurate, and hemolymph coated his hand.

“Sorry,” she said, patting his hand with a rag and drawing another curse from him. “But that should be all of it. Ooh. Sorry. This has disinfectant on it. I swear I’m almost done hurting you. Oh. No. I totally lied, ‘cause I’m going to look at your eye too.”

“It’s fine.”

“If I may offer my professional opinion,” Bluebell said, bandaging his hand. “You look like hot dung.” 

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome! What happened to your eye?”

“Crossbow bolt.”

She paused. “Like, one fell onto it-”

“Through it.”

“And you’re _alive_? That’s astounding lucky.”

“I’m astounding resilient.”

She tsk’d. She held a small lamp up to it. “Can you see out of it?”

“No- _Terra_.” 

“You had dirt in it,” she chided. “And it can’t protect itself properly. You should be wearing goggles-”

“No, thanks.”

“Or something to keep debris out of it, especially when digging. Don’t dig for a while, by the way, your hand needs to rest. Though given the damage it may be better to eventually remove the eye-”

“No.”

“Gwyn,” she said. “You are clearly, as you put it, resilient. I am not doubting that. But you are here, at a healer, so let me heal.”

He chirruped lowly. Was he embarrassed? He couldn’t think of another word for his current state. It’d been much easier to ignore his degrading health when no one cared. No one _should_ care, he should be able to tend to himself and he wished he could heal the hatchling and he should have never left Hallownest he wanted to sleep he needed to get the hatchling home he-

“Gwyn. Gwyn. Hello. I can tell you’re dwelling on something. Never a good idea. Stop.”

“Sorry,” he croaked. 

“It’s alright,” she said, patting his arm. “I’ll bandage your eye for now. The rest of your carapace seems… fine. It’s healed. May I suggest getting shot at less, though?”

“Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” she hummed, pressing something soft against his eye. “Now, this is where I suggest you should get some sleep, but-”

“No-”

“You’ll do that. Fine. Get some sleep _soon_ , and don’t use that hand for a bit.” 

She let him go when he promised he would. Dusk was bleeding the sky orange and purple, and he hurried back towards the hatchling. Nervously paused a couple times, glancing back to ensure he wasn’t being followed. 

You’re being silly, he told himself. Even if Raja was after them—and he hazarded a guess that she was—the hatchling traveled much faster than her, and they were primarily underground. He saw no bugs and he dug back to the hatchling, doing his honest best to not use his bad hand. Truly. It was hard to dig with one hand, though.

[Tiny-Wyrm!] the hatchling cooed. The markings in the dirt and the state their fur was in suggested they had taken to rolling about to pass the time again. [I made dirt-worms.]

“They are lovely,” he said. “Have you rested at all?”

[Yeessss.]

“That sounds like a no.”

[You haven’t either!]

“I am a big Wyrm,” he said. “You are a baby Wyrm. Baby Wyrms need their rest.”

[I’m not tired.] They rolled about some more in emphasis. 

“Fine,” he huffed. “We need to go northeast for about… two weeks? With any luck, we’ll find your mother there.”

They wiggled eagerly. [Maybe we’ll find your mom too!]

Oh, Terra. He hoped not. He could hear her already: This is why I told you the whole bug thing was a terrible idea, Gwyn. Look at the state of you. “Maybe.”

The journey would, hopefully, be simple. He should only need to check they were still heading the right direction a couple of times, and once they reached the tunnels of the mountain chain they could just follow them. And two weeks was giving the hatchling time to rest.

[I’m hungry.]

Three weeks, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making up Wyrm culture is my passion.


	10. An Interlude for Snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn learns taking care of hatchlings is probably easier when you are not ant-sized.

The hatchling made it perhaps eighty miles before stopping, curling up in a hastily dug out cavern, and wailing, [I’m HUNGRY.]

So am I, Gwyn did not say in response, suppressing a sigh and reminding himself that they were a baby. Knowing you wouldn’t starve to death and acting on this knowledge were two entirely different things. “Once we get you home, I’m sure your mother will have tons of snacks for you.”

[I’m hungry NOW.] He winced.

“I don’t have any food.”

[HUNGRY.]

“Well then find something, I can’t help you. I’m like the size of… actually I am literally the size of an ant.”

[TIRED.] And they curled up, breathing nosily. He slid off their back before they tucked their head into the coil.

“… Are you okay?” he asked.

[NO.] Well. At least they were honest. They curled about, perhaps struggling to get comfortable, before softly adding, [I wanna go home.]

“You will,” he assured, scritching their neck. They uncurled and wailed, shaking the tiny cavern. Terra, had he made them cry? 

[MMMOOOOMMM-] Oh, no, they were having a temper tantrum. 

“It’s okay,” he said desperately, pulling some rocks from their fur. “Why don’t you take a nap-”

[Tired,] the hatchling confirmed.

“And I’ll try and find you something to eat. Okay? You have to stay right here though.”

[Or Raja will get me.]

“I mean…” he supposed that was possible, but he didn’t want to scare the hatchling with her. “Just stay here, okay?”

[Okay.] They curled up again, and he waited until he was certain they were asleep before digging to the surface.

Sunlight washed over a meadow carpeted in flowers, maskflies flitting about and chattering at one another. This was, at least, promising; if a stream was nearby, larger mud-dwelling bugs may be there. Was this the wisest way to test his magic in combat? He supposed it wasn’t the worst. 

The maskflies took off the moment he walked near them. Lavender grew among the flowers—did baby Wyrms need their vegetables? Lavender was not a vegetable. Their greens?—he picked some as he walked, tucking them into his satchel. A cooling breeze rolled across the grass. This would be such a cozy place to sleep. Do not go to sleep. 

Eventually he spotted some trees with a stream running between them. He saw no half-buried lesser mawleks, but plenty of crawlids rooting about the mud. 

He _intended_ to use a small bit of magic to dispatch the one closest to him. Instead the bolt turned into a large blob and smacked the ground next to it. It meandered on, and pain burned through him.

“Are you seri-” 

The blob sank into the ground and then mud was sent flying, along with himself and the nearby crawlid. The shallows of the river at least provided a soft landing, and he wiped mud off of his face. “Ugh.”

This was ridiculous. Even when working with Void he’d never had issues with his magic. One day, when everything was settled, he was going to destroy Raja for somehow breaking the one thing he’d ever been good at.

The riverbank churned slowly, a number of crawlids tossed about and steaming in the mud. He supposed that was one way to hunt, wading out of the water. He pulled the soaked bandages off of his hand, wincing. Should he save these? Probably. He wrung them out as best he could before stowing them in his satchel.

He gathered a pile of crawlids. Eight was not that many for a Wyrm, but it was all he could find and, frankly, probably all he could carry without dropping one every other step.

Not that he didn’t drop some. He stopped four times to pick them back up, awkwardly balancing the others, until he finally gave up and just kicked the last one along in front of him. It was well coated in dirt and the sun gone by the time he reached his tunnel again, but given the hatchling’s fondness of rolling in said dirt he figured it would just be seasoning. He set them all down, unearthed the tunnel’s entrance, then dropped them all down it before following.

The hatchling was still sleeping. Would they eat the shell? Was it too tough for them? He had no idea. He set about prying meat from shell and placing the lavender in a pile. His stomach growled and he ignored it.

[Food!] a sleepy hatchling cheered some time later. In one giant gulp everything was gone, including the shells he’d set aside. They nosed the ground, then him.

“I don’t have anything else,” he said wearily, shoulders slumping. Again he felt the urge to cry.

[Oookaayyy,] the hatchling said, with a tinge of a whine. 

“Please tell me this will get you to the Summit.”

[Are we almost there?]

“No.”

[Maybe.] He had to stamp down his frustration. He couldn’t risk upsetting them and having them run off; he would never be able to catch up to them. 

“Okay. Well. Are you ready to keep going?”

They scratched their head on the roof of the cavern. [Yup.]

He clambered onto their back. Their fur was so soft… he gripped it with his bad hand, sending a jolt of pain and awareness through him. “Let’s go. Remember, the sooner we get there, the sooner you can have all the snacks you want.”

[For the snacks!] the hatchling cried, and he tucked himself closer as they burrowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a master of editing and so managed to spell "Gwyn" wrong 5/6 times last chapter lmaaooo. This is what happens when you type "Wyrm" so much apparently.
> 
> Thank you for the comments! <3


	11. The Summit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn is relieved to reach the Summit, though quickly remembers he is, in fact, the size of an ant.

[Hungry.]

Gwyn sighed. They had been traveling for barely more than week, with a good several hundred miles to go before they even reached the mountain chain itself. He knew it was a lot to ask for a hatchling, and clinging to one spot for so long meant every part of him that could cramp had. Still, he would much rather be done with this part of his journey.

They dug out a cavern and he slid off their back, his legs immediately giving out. He fell gracelessly to the ground and all he could do was sigh again.

[Are you dead?]

“No,” he mumbled.

[I’m hungry.]

“I know,” he said, rolling onto his back. His hand pulsed with pain and he pulled the satchel closer to inspect the bandages he’d saved. They were dry, but spotted with dirt and something green. He did not know much about non-magical healing, but he was certain using them would just make things worst. He dropped them.

“Surely you caught something, with all the time you spend chasing random critters,” he said.

[Nope,] the hatchling said proudly. A pause. [Oh.]

By now Raja certainly had bugs on the lookout for a Wyrm. He was confident they were well ahead of her, but he could not risk the hatchling being spotted above ground and word reaching her. Once back at the nest, their mother could certainly protect them. He could not.

“Just… wait here,” he said, getting to his feet.

* * *

The land above was a dry stretch with tall, yellow grass and few trees. A pit formed in his stomach.

Wandering the field revealed there was not a lack of prey; he was simply incapable of taking them down. A moss charger, cloaked in grass and stone, barreled into him and knocked him over. It was gone by the time he sat up.

“Terra,” he croaked. Another charged and he scrambled out of the way. 

At the very least, no one ever, ever had to know he retreated from a moss charger, as he was not keen on having his magic randomly explode again. Instead he skirted suspicious movement in the ground, eventually locating what was likely one of their food sources: a field of bulbs and roots. 

He dug up as much as he could carry, which required him to cover a fair amount of distance. A pull, a feeling, to his left, and he whipped his head towards it.

A bug, or what he thought was a bug, watched him from a distant tree. Fear rooted him in place, a stupid, _idiotic_ reaction he managed to think, but the bug moved before he did. He barely remembered to breathe when they chose to head in the opposite direction; he waited until they were gone from the horizon before darting back to his tunnel.

Upon dropping the food in front of the hatchling, he got the exact response he was expecting. [Nnnnnooo.]

“Greens are good for you.”

[Mum always brought me maggots with any vegetables.]

“This is all I have.”

[I’m HUNGRY.]

“So am I!” he snapped. The hatching keened unhappily, but pulled the pile closer to themselves.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes. They nudged a tuber towards him. “No. It’s fine. Eat.”

They gulped them all down and gave him a brief nuzzle.

* * *

The hatchling seemed determine to make it the rest of the trip without food, but still had to stop a few days later to rest. While he felt bad for snapping at them, he was happy to not have to try his hand at hunting again.

His hand ached, everything ached, he wasn’t so hungry anymore despite not eating. That was good. Was that good? That was probably bad. He didn’t know. Brushing anything with it was agony, the flesh beneath the shell swollen and leaking green. 

“I ruled a kingdom once,” he muttered incredulously. Who let himself be king? Oh, right. He had. Why did he _ever_ listen to himself?

[Was it fun?] the hatchling asked sleepily.

“No. Awful idea. Don’t do it.”

[Dirt worms sound like more fun.]

“They are.”

The hatchling went to sleep. He took this time to tunnel to the surface, nervously peeking out. A thin layer of snow coated the ground, a promising sign they were getting close. The forest was dense here, the only sign of life distant calls of maskflies and fading hoofprints of a type of bug-horse. He stayed there, waiting, tense, for what felt like hours. He saw nothing. He was not sure if felt better as he returned to the cavern.

The hatchling cheeped a greeting before shaking themselves awake. The next day, their tunnel abruptly dumped into a far larger one. 

“Thank Terra,” he croaked. “Follow it. That way.”

They did so with renewed vigor. The dirt tunnels became laced with marble, lumaflies embedded behind sheets of glass. Finally it spilled into a central chamber, its walls made entirely of marble and embedded lumaflies, its roof so high up it was not visible and instead a gray haze. The hatchling squawked in surprise and thumped onto the ground.

At the center of the chamber was the Seer’s Pool, two hundred feet in diameter and lined with crystals of pink and blue and opal. A single Wyrm was curled around it, pearly white with two sets of gray spines running down her back to house white fins. Nymph. Her length wrapped thrice around the pool, and she looked up at the sound of the hatchling’s entrance. 

[Sweet Terra,] Nymph said as the hatchling righted themselves. [Lucius?]

[THAT’S ME,] the hatchling announced happily. He winced.

[Lucius!] He clutched his head. [You’re okay!]

The Wyrm uncurled and hurried over, nosing Lucius’ fur. [What happened HERE-]

[I’m fffiinneee no I’m huNGRY-]

[I imagine you are where have you been who are—GWYN. I thought you were dead! This is a day of surprises!]

“My head,” he croaked.

[Huh—oh. Sorry. You found Lucius! Oh, hang on, I need to send word to the others.]

[MMOOOMM-]

[She’ll be coming! Hush, Gwyn has chosen a dumb form so you’re giving him a headache.]

“You’re a dumb form,” he whispered. She ignored him, curling back around the pool and bowing her head.

After a few minutes she looked up. [Your mother is on her way. We insisted she stay at the nest, so she’s not too far.]

Gwyn sighed in relief and Lucius wiggled in delight. 

“Not too far” still meant they were waiting an hour. He continued to cling to Lucius, the stretch of quiet that fell making him keenly aware of how small he was. It had not been so bad with a hatchling; around a Wyrm he’d known for years, it was unsettling for reasons he could not quite place. 

Lucius flopped over, then whined about not being able to make dirt worms on the crystalline floor. 

[So,] Nymph finally said. [How’s the bug thing going?]

“Great.”

[You look awful.]

“So do you.”

[Oh? Because that is definitely _not_ what you said at the-]

He was spared by another Wyrm bursting into the chamber. Aurora was easily a thousand feet long, her chitin shimmering white and blue, four elongated horns cresting her head. 

[Lulu,] Aurora cooed, coiling herself about the hatchling and nuzzling them. He would have let go, but there was they very real chance she’d squash him. [Lulu Lulu Lulu Lulu-]

She nosed their fur, exhaling sharply and stopping as she noticed him. 

“… Hi,” he said.

[Gwyn,] she said. [Did you find Lucius?]

“I did.”

[Did he?] Nymph chirped. Hey.

[He did! He broke me out of a cage! He did NOT give me maggots, and I’m HUNGRRRYYY-] She licked their face and they quieted to coos.

[You,] Aurora told them. [Are you _so much trouble_.]

[But muuuummm-]

[Nymph, will you stay here for a bit longer? If any other Wyrms return, please tell them I’ve brought Lucius back to the nest.]

[Of course.]

Aurora returned her attention to him. [You must come see the nest,] she said.

“Oh,” he croaked. “I’m—I don’t want to bother you. I can say with confidence the hatchling is enough of a handful.”

[HEY.] Ow.

[Oh, they are,] she agreed warmly. [But I must insist.]

“I…” He would be better if he saw, for absolute certain, that the hatchling was safe and sound. It would also be rude to decline such a generous offer; a Wyrm’s nest was often fiercely guarded, especially with a hatchling. “Okay.”

* * *

She kept a hold of Lucius as they left the Summit. He didn’t blame her, though he was quite certain they wanted nothing more than to stay home for a good long while.

Her den was massive, with enough room for her to coil around a nest about three hundred feet in diameter and loom over it. Larders were carved out of the rock surrounding her, filled with roots and tubers and meats and flowers and nuts. She deposited her hatchling in the nest, and finally he allowed himself to let go of their fur. She picked up some of the nesting material and dropped it in an empty section of larder. She then very carefully picked him up. He froze, and did not relax until she gently set him in the smaller, makeshift nest. The material was a soft mixture of fur, scraps of cloth, and fibers. It was homey in a way he’d almost forgotten. 

[Sorry,] she said. [I don’t want you to get squished.]

Aurora turned back to her hatchling and nuzzled them, Soul washing over their wounds and knitting them closed. Lucius then promptly set about rolling in the nest proper, until their fur was barely visible and a content purr came from them. 

[I cannot thank you enough,] she said. [Where did you find them?]

He hesitated. He did not want to admit to having submitted to a mortal, to having helped craft the seals that led to Lucius’ capture. He could lie, say he stumbled across the hatchling already in captivity…

But Lucius had no reason to lie, and Aurora would be able to make guesses from their story. He opted to go for the short version: the hatchling had been captured by a God Tamer named Raja. He’d found them because he’d already been captured by her. She refused to let them go, so he eventually broke them out. Then they came here.

[I see,] Aurora said after a long minute of silence. [I did not think they’d be able to travel so far at such a young age… that explains why we had not found them yet. This Raja is the source of both your injuries?]

“Yes.”

[Hmmmppff.] She shook herself. [Mortals are usually beneath me. I suppose I could consider an exception.]

“They weren’t all bad,” he found himself saying. Or they were, he supposed, but was their reasoning that much different from how he’d viewed mortals for so long? 

[Hmpf. Regardless, the least I can do is patch you up.]

“That…” He should be able to heal himself. He… “Would be appreciated. Thank you.”

She pressed her head against him. Soul washed over him and he _screamed_ as the ice burned ever hotter and his magic lashed out against it, abruptly emptying the last of his own Soul reserves. 

[Sweet Terra,] she said. She stopped casting and he collapsed. Steam rose from his shell but suddenly he did not feel hot, just unbearably, agonizingly empty. He managed to swallow back bile before one, two, three seconds passed and he threw it up. [That was not- are you okay?]

“No,” he croaked.

She plucked the dirty bedding out of the nest. [It was very brief, but the channels your magic travels through—they felt off. Usually it’s just a matter of providing additional energy, but your magic felt like it did not know where to go to begin with.]

“Ah,” he said. It offered some but also little explanation. Perhaps using the barrier to destroy the shackle had caused some sort of feedback, hurt him beyond just his hand. 

He flexed his hand and pain spiked through it. It was soft, as was, he realized, the entirety of his shell. 

[I am going to scold my hatchling,] Aurora said. [And _you_ are going to sleep.]

“I really-”

[Need to go to sleep, especially after whatever just happened. I’ve never heard of a Wyrm’s magic breaking, and your shell needs time to harden again.]

First Wyrm tamed, first Wyrm to break his magic. He struggled to keep his eyes open. “I really need to leave,” he croaked. “By tomorrow afternoon.”

[I will wake you then. Now sleep.]

“Thanks,” he whispered.

He fell asleep.

* * *

He was too tired to dream.

[-yn. Gwyn. Wake up.] He groaned and rolled over. [You’re welcome to keep sleeping. It is tomorrow afternoon, though.]

He desperately wanted more sleep but forced himself to sit up. Lucius was happily munching on a cracked open garpede.

[You look awful,] she said simply. [Are you sure you’re going to be okay?]

“Yes,” he croaked.

[Look. Whatever you’re leaving to do,] she said. [You don’t have to. Have you considered you’ve been in your current form too long?]

A thousand times while shrouded in dreams; duty and guilt had kept him from abandoning Hallownest entirely. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

[I don’t mean to offend. You should at least allow yourself to rest.]

Hallownest was falling apart. He was falling apart. He…

He groaned as a wave of nausea washed over him. 

“Maybe…” he whispered. “Maybe I will sleep. Just a little longer.”

[Take all the time you need.]

He curled up and murmured a “Thank you.” Anything else was washed away by how soft the nest was and how quickly he fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone please give Gwyn a round of applause for getting Lucius to the Summit in one piece.


	12. A Journey Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn discovers the joys and pains of walking extended distances.

He slept for three day, undisturbed by dreams or nightmares or rambunctious hatchlings. When he finally did wake, he felt coherent for the first time in ages. Looking over his hand, he realized that though it was still sore, it was no where near as tender as before, nothing trying to push its way through the cracks in his shell. He supposed, though exceedingly painful and not the intended result, being blasted with so much Soul had burned any infection away.

It also meant he was keenly aware of how ravenous he was. He refused to ask Aurora for food, though, doing his best to ignore the pile not twenty feet away and the now pile of garpedes Lucius was curled around. Aurora cooed as they happily munched away.

[Oh good,] she hummed. [You’re awake. Feel any better?]

“Much,” he croaked. Water. Was also a thing. That he could easily address later. “Thank you. I am sorry to intrude.”

[It’s not a bother,] she assured, holding a stubborn bit of shell down with her tail so Lucius could pry the meat off. [You are welcome to stay as long as you want.]

To remain was sorely tempting. He couldn’t help but be attached to Lucius, and it’d been so long since he’d been around other Wyrms. He’d forgotten how nice a den was. Contained. Safe. Warm. Hollow. 

“I really need to go,” he said. “But thank you.”

[Very well. I can at least see if I have anything useful for you.] 

She nosed through her larder. At a few minutes of careful extraction, she dropped a clump of geo and a pile of nuts and berries before him. She crunched the geo into smaller bits. Would bugs even take geo anymore? Was it used elsewhere? He didn’t know. Why hadn’t he read? Anything beyond three signs? In that town? He thanked her and placed the seventy-two geo and food in his satchel. It took all of his self control to not wolf everything down right then and there.

[I’ll take you out of the mountains. Which way are you headed?]

“Southeast.” 

[Alright. And Lucius will stay right. Here.] She swung her head towards her hatchling, who cheeped sheepishly. 

* * *

The moment Aurora burrowed away he ripped the satchel open and ate everything. He barely tasted it and he had to take deep breathes after. He was full and he almost wanted to cry. Again. When had he become so weepy? 

Hallownest was nearly a thousand miles away. He considered digging and quickly discarded the idea; his hand was better, but not entirely healed, and that was a monstrous distance for an ant. It was a monstrous distance to walk, but that it would be less taxing. 

He stared at the taiga before him. Hallownest was so, so far away. He could not ask Aurora to leave Lucius for so long, and Nymph… oh Nymph would never let him live it down. Besides, it wasn’t like he could ask her to fight the Radiance for him. Oh Terra, the Radiance. Maybe someone on the way could figure out how to mend his channels, because he didn’t stand a chance without his magic. 

He squished his cheeks. “Fret while walking,” he whispered. This was agreeable, he decided. He set off through the snow.

* * *

Walking was.

_Exhausting._

Why did any bug willing travel? This was awful. At first he’d been able to appreciate the scenery, shimmering snow and tall pines and the odd maskfly. Now, after two days of it and just finally leaving the forest, the appeal was minimal.

He supposed it was the two days part. His legs burned but he’d been ignoring it. What, he wondered, was he just going to walk to Hallownest without pause? No. Well then stop. Pacing oneself when your usual plan was “go until someone else stops you” made this very difficult.

What he wanted to do was teleport, but as far as he could tell, he had not gathered any Soul; usually he ambiently did so. The idea of possibly being trapped in the dream realm if he had, or wildly thrown elsewhere, was also unappealing.

He burrowed in the snow and curled up. He would rest for just a little, he decided, burying his face in the snow.

* * *

Snow eventually gave way to stretches of yellow and dirt, which gave way to thin forests and meadows. It was much easier to sustain himself alone on the tubers and flowers he came across; he was still shy about using his magic and was not in any way proficient with other weapons. 

He had found numerous towns along the way, and to his delight they did accept geo. Seventy-two geo did not last long when board was included, but those pillows had been so, so soft each time. Sleeping outside was not the worst thing, but he still somethings saw bugs that never approached him. Not that he hadn’t run into other travelers. But the others, who never left a trace the times he’d gathered up the courage to investigate where they’d been. They made him nervous even though a part of him argued he was being paranoid. They probably lived nearby and were guarding their home. Bugs lived in lots of places. 

He had only avoided one sign of civilization along his travels, where broken clay pillars were surrounded by red tents and dancing lights. There was always the chance it was someone else, but he’d still given it a wide berth just in case.

He was reaching two months of travel now. It was almost enjoyable, seeing the world he’d spent so much time below. Bugs thrived and argued and lived. Hallownest had been like this once. It could be again.

A town glimmered invitingly in the distant twilight and he picked up his pace. Perhaps he could convince an innkeeper to let him stay the night; he’d cleaned at least three sets of dishes in return for board over his travels, if rather poorly the first time. It almost didn’t bother him anymore. Pillows were worth a lot.

Bushes lined the forming pathway and flowers budded stubbornly in the well-packed dirt. The bushes became larger and more well-trimmed the closer he got, yellow flowers blooming cheerfully, but the path was wide enough to prevent it from being claustrophobic. 

A barrier abruptly formed in front of him; he yelped and scurried back, hitting another. He pressed his hands to it and… he had no more Soul. He tried to burrow. The barrier was just a few inches down. No no no no-

Raja stepped out onto the path, followed by Barb and Hock.

“I hope you've enjoyed your freedom, Wyrm,” she said lowly. “Because it’s over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn forms predictable habits I'M SORRY.


	13. Raja's Buyer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn is spared the worst of Raja's anger, thanks to her already having a buyer lined up. That said, magic is fickle, and far easier to break than mend.

Raja led them off of the path and into a nearby forest. “Most bugs,” Raja said, as he continued to scrabble fruitlessly at the barrier. “When being pursued, don’t travel in near a straight line.”

He had somewhere to be! He had to return to Hallownest! He had to return to Hallownest. He had to-

They had set up a small camp in a clearing, consisting of two tents, a central fire, a cart, and a small iron cage. Barb pushed him into this and released the barrier. He threw himself at the door as she snapped her fingers and ethereal chains wrapped around his limbs, forcing him to his knees and taking the wind out of him. 

Raja crouched in front of him. “Where is the hatchling?” 

“Gone,” he whispered. “Safe. Fuck you.”

She snarled. “You’re lucky I’ve already made a deal with someone, Wyrm. I have to limit my revenge. Very, very lucky.”

The door shut and he screamed, thrashing against the bonds. “Barb,” Raja snapped. A silence Seal formed over the cage.

Hock stoked the fire and began unpacking cooking supplies. Raja and Barb sat nearby and began rummaging through bags. He continued screaming and straining against the chains. He tried to reach for them with his magic, to pull Soul from them, but was repelled. 

Night had well fallen. Hock had put away the last of the dishes and Barb was, infuriatingly, reading when his voice finally faded. He slumped with a heavy wheeze.

Tears burned in his eyes and each breath stabbed at his throat. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to try and fix his wrongs. He should have stayed at the Summit; if all he did was break things, what made him think he could help? He couldn’t even help himself. Had they been following him? Had he dismissed them as paranoia? Had those bugs been paranoia? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything.

Hock and Raja lifted the cage into the cart. He blearily looked up as she reached through the bars and placed another shackle around his wrist.

His magic screamed, he screamed, finding new voice that promptly cracked at the fire that tore through him. 

“Good night,” Raja hummed. He screamed mutely.

* * *

A burning, agonizing whiteness dominated his mind, his vision, allowing him only snatches of both. It leeched his thoughts and threatened to consume him, hemolymph roaring through his ears. He hunched over to spit out globs.

He was both unaware and _too_ aware. The sun rose and everything that was already too hot was even more so. A breeze filtered through and felt like tiny daggers. Someone patted his cheek and he recoiled. 

“-ja,” Barb was saying. “I… I think you need to remove it. There’s something wrong with his channels, even if his Soul reserves are depleted the heart of his magic shouldn’t be reacting like this-”

“It’s hurting him,” Raja said.

“Immensely. I-”

“Good.”

* * *

Every bump of the cart sent a fresh wave of fire through him, burning anyway any thread of thought he’d managed. The only relief was that something had been thrown over the cage and darkened it; probably to keep prying eyes away, but it also kept away the sun and wind. 

They stopped a number of times but he’d lost sense of time. Place. He was just pain and it was becoming harder to remember anything else. 

He sobbed and it hurt. He would do anything to make it stop. Anything. Or had he always been like this? Was there a stop? Had there been a start? He couldn’t remember anymore.

* * *

Raja pulled him out of the cage and he stumbled, falling hard to his knees. Moving was a horrible, searing pain that whited his thoughts again.

Voices grounded him, just barely. He looked up. A centipede, adorned in a well-worn mask with three prongs and draped with a red cloak. He was pulled to his feet. Whiteness. Garbled words. A hand grabbed a shoulder and pushed him forward.

They walked. And walked. Everything was white and burning and finally he collapsed, throwing up bile and hemolymph.

They took his bad hand. He tried to yank it away but they tighten their grip. He sobbed, unable to properly voice a plead to stop, that he would do anything they wanted if they just made it stop. 

A sharp click and a weight dropped off his wrist. His magic sang, too loud, still burning, ripping through his channels but at least it was moving again, distributing the pain and making it more tolerable. His vision returned to his good eye, spotty at first but slowly clearing. The small of his back was being rubbed- but- he-

“I’m so sorry,” the centipede said, lifting their mask. He stared, seeing but not processing, wondering if he’d gone mad. “It was the only way to be sure Raja would stop pursuing you. I’m so sorry, I only asked her to _find_ you, to bring you to me. I didn’t ask her to hurt you, I’m so sorry, I-”

He placed a hand on the centipede’s cheek and he fell quiet. He was solid. How excellent. How delightful. He had so many questions but right now, none were important enough to ask, no answer capable of dispelling his joy. It took a few tries to muster a voice, but he finally managed to whisper: “Lurien.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's okay all the competent gay is here.


	14. Hallownest

“Sire,” Lurien replied.

He winced. He felt barely a bug, much less a king. “Please don’t.” 

Lurien took his hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “Gwyn,” he amended. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” he laughed hoarsely. Speaking was beginning to take an effort he hadn’t know it could. He tried to stand but his legs shook too much, a stumble to a knee sending a jolt of pain through him.

“It’s alright,” Lurien assured. His voice was soft as ever and he still smelled of rain and old books. He helped him to his feet and everything was sore, a shaking in his shell that made him feel weaker than a grubling.

“Sorry,” Gwyn whispered. He had so many questions, so much more for an apology, but his voice faltered and exhaustion weighed him down. “I’m tired.”

“Then rest,” Lurien said. “I pray you not take this as offense but… I could carry you.”

Everything he’d done for the sake of his ego had only made things worse. “Okay.”

A soft “oh,” and then he was scooped up into Lurien’s arms. He leaned into him with a sigh.

“My carriage is not too far from here. Then we can catch a tram,” Lurien said. He nodded, shutting his eyes. Had Lurien always had a carriage? Where did he plan to catch a tram? Did they even run anymore? Questions he tried to voice, but they only came out as sleepy mumbles. 

“Rest. All will be well.”

He leaned in a bit more and let sleep wash over him.

* * *

Nightmares of burning light and screaming bugs crept into his sleep. A distant, distant voice would murmur soothingly and they would fade, if only for a time, and he’d sleep peacefully.

He awoke to tinny music and slight rattling. Lumaflies lit bugs seated on cushioned seats and reflected off windows that revealed dirt rushing by. His head was resting on Lurien’s shoulder, vision slightly obscured by what he realized, as he reached up to touch it, was a rounded mask. A lilac cloak was wrapped around him.

He sat up, wincing. The bug across from them, reading some sort of paper, did not look up. Infected bugs did not read. He was quite certain trams were unique to Hallownest. What-

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want an outfit or not,” Lurien admitted softly. The other bugs all at least wore masks. “I just know you used to prefer cloaks.”

“Thank you,” he croaked. He leaned back into him. He felt Lurien tense for a moment before relaxing. He couldn’t blame him, as he’d always kept even those close to him at an arm’s length.

“Are you hungry?”

Oh, Terra. He was famished. He nodded, and Lurien produced a bag of maggot bites from his bag. They were sweet, a snack he remembered the Watcher being fond of. “Sorry,” the centipede said sheepishly. “I’ll get you something more substantial at the station.”

“What station?” he asked around a mouthful. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Lurien had pulled his mask back down, but he could tell by his tone he was smiling. He swallowed. “King’s Station.”

“It’s still—that’s a Stagway, not a tram station.”

“It’s both now. You’ll see. I’ll explain more when we are somewhere more private.”

He ate all of the maggot bites. The tram finally stopped and they disembarked on a platform just above the Stagway station he remembered; a new bridge and stairs connecting them to each other and to the streets beyond. There was indeed a shop selling food, and Lurien bought him a mug of soup. He looped an arm through one of Lurien’s so he could cling to him and the warm mug as they walked.

Slanted tarps protected a swath of the city, allowing a warmer air to build. Lights were covered with colored glass, vendors hawked their wears, and the smell of food and flowers filled the air. The City of Tears was very, very alive. More alive than he’d ever seen it. He could not stop looking about every which way, only not running into things because of Lurien. 

A new palace, smaller and slimmer than the old that had been far below, had been built in the fountain square with the Hollow Knight memorial before it. It was most certainly a palace though, with open grand double doors and stained glassed windows of rose and silver and its walls made of a glimmering, pearly stone offset by light blues. Winged sentries guarded the entrance and lumafly posts lined the pathway from the memorial to the doors.

He walked over to the memorial. Geo glimmered at its base and the plaque was different. The old one had been removed entirely, and the new one read:

MEMORIAL TO THE  
HOLLOW KNIGHT

Through their defiance,  
We are free to dream no more.

He ran his fingers along the metal. “’Free to dream no more,’” he repeated. “The… the Radiance. She-”

“Is dead,” Lurien said. “Hollow defeated her.”

Oh. Oh. He- it- she- “I’d- I’d heard it’d broke, that the infection had returned.”

Lurien glanced around. Bugs milled about and seemed to pay them no mind. “That had happened, yes.”

“Wh- when did Hollow- when-”

“About six years ago. Word of Hallownest’s recovery has spread, but the news is not always believed.”

His legs wobbled. Lurien caught him and held him upright. “I. This whole time. I thought I’d have to fight her.”

“You intended to?” Lurien’s voice was neutral. 

“I couldn’t leave Hollow. I just… I thought I could but I _couldn’t_.”

Lurien placed a hand to his brow.

“Lurien.”

“Gwyn,” he replied. “I am pleased to hear this. Truly. I am also pleased you won’t have to, given I’ve had to carry you for most of our journey.”

“I’ve had a very stressful few years.”

“I can see that. It reduces my urge to slap you,” Lurien hummed. “Though everyone else may not feel the same. Come on.”

He led him to the palace. The guards did not stop them, and they walked through bright halls where servants laden with plates or clothing or cleaning supplies would scurry through from doors lining them. It did not take long to reach the throne room. Winged sentries guarded the doors and either side of the dias steps, which led up to a single white throne. Blue and silver curtains were tied back to let the dreary lighting of the City in, giving the stained glass a cold glimmer. A hearth burned to his left, providing a warmer light that filled the majority of the room.

A small bug, draped in a light blue cloak and with a smooth pronged mask sat on the throne, a needle leaned against it.

“Father,” Hornet said. “Welcome to Hallownest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly Hollow is too good for Gwyn.


	15. From the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hallownest moves forward, but still things dwell from its past.

“H- Hornet,” he replied. It took a long few moments, his mind still trying to process everything, for him to add, “Thank you.”

She stared at him with what he could sense was a practiced regal disdain. A part of him was proud. The bulk of him was awkward; not that he hadn’t gotten similar looks before, he was just used to being a position to glare right back or dismiss them from his presence. Shaking slightly and clinging to another in a kingdom rebuilt in his absence, he felt no such thing.

“She wants you to kneel,” Lurien whispered, taking the empty soup mug. Oh. Oh! Oh. Oof. He pushed his mask up, wincing slightly as he dropped to a knee and lowered his head. 

“My mother owes me fifty geo,” Hornet announced. “Lurien, you’re my witness.”

“Alright,” Lurien said, sounding amused.

He looked up at the sound of light footsteps. Hornet lifted his head further and turned it a bit. Let go and returned to her throne, where she more elegantly draped herself than sat. “Rise. What shall we call you?”

He did so. “Gwyn.” A pause. “If it pleases you.”

She huffed. “Now I owe Monomon fifty geo. I was certain your reply would be ‘Wyrm.’”

“You may call me whatever pleases you,” he replied, struggling to keep his tone neutral. Lurien pressed against him.

“Those names would be in poor decorum.” He smiled a bit at that. “You look about to fall over.”

“I am tired.”

For a long minute she said nothing, staring, considering. She could throw him out, he realized, and he could not protest. Or worse, a part of him whispered, and he told it to shut up. 

“Splint,” she called. One of the sentries fluttered up. “Escort Gwyn to one of the spare royal rooms. Then send for a healer.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he replied, fluttering over to him. A breath Gwyn had not realized he’d been holding escaped.

“Thank you,” he croaked. 

“I have need of you,” Hornet said simply. “But for now, rest.”

He bowed stiffly and followed the sentry out of the room and up a handful of flights. A second sort of handrail ran along the stairs, though he couldn’t reach it without standing on his tippy toes. Lurien trailed behind, finally handing the mug to a passing servant before catching up.

“That went well,” Lurien said cheerfully. He supposed it had. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he said. He was. The royal flight was on the fifth level, stained glass casting the floor in a gloomy teal light. It was lovely, in a way, broken only by the higher handrail that continued even over full-length windows.

Splint opened the seventh door. “I’ll send Ophir,” he said before leaving.

Another window, without the rail and pittering softly with rain. A dark red dresser and and a bookshelf lined the back wall, next to another door; a desk and chair sat to the right, and large, cozy looking bed and simple nightstand to the left by the window. 

Lurien lingered. “I,” Gwyn said, clutching his satchel. “I have something for you.” Before something happened and he lost it forever.

He pulled the journal out and held it out to him. He should have done something more, he then realized. He’d spent how long fretting over how to give it to him when he’d been king, and he’d just shoved it at him? Lurien took it, gingerly flipping through the worn pages. “Oh!” he said, delighted. Gwyn’s heart soared. “This is _delightful_ , thank you, Gwyn. H- how long have you been carrying this around?”

“Too long,” he said. “I never- there was never a right- I just-”

“It’s okay,” Lurien assured, holding it close. “Thank you. The musings of the gods have always fascinated me.”

And just like that his heart sank into his stomach. Fascinated. “Lurien. I. Don’t mean to sound ungrateful-”

The centipede nervously tapped the cover.

“But how did you… with Raja. You were in contact with her.”

Lurien was quiet for a long moment. “I’ve known about God Tamers for quite some time,” he finally said. “Since your reign. They are fascinating as well, really, an entire, almost covert organization. It took me years to win their trust—I never approached them as _Lurien_ , of course, my station in your court was well known—as an wealthy, potential buyer. I really wanted their notes: the various types of gods, what did and didn’t work against them, the call they all seemed to share that subdued them.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Lurien shuffled awkwardly. “It’s my duty to watch and observe. Besides, nothing I’d heard indicated you were a target. I would have told you. You know that.”

He did. Lurien would never betray him. Still, he found himself huffing and turning to the dresser, pulling his mask and cloak off and putting everything anyway.

“Gwyn?”

“It’s fine,” he said.

“I didn’t- I was shocked when I received word of a god matching your description. All this time, thinking you dead-”

“It’s fine!” he snapped. Lurien quieted. “I’m sorry. It’s fine. Truly. I’m just-”

“Tired?”

“Overwhelmed. I’ll be fine.”

Lurien suddenly looked sheepish, but there was a knock on the door before Gwyn could question it. The centipede all but yanked the door open.

“Alright,” the yellow and black owlfly said. “Hello.”

He stepped into the room. “I’m Ophir. Watcher Lurien, may I request your absence?”

“Why?” Lurien’s voice held the slightest hint of a whine.

“Patient privacy,” Ophir said. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lurien,” Gwyn said. He seemed to brighten at this, clutching the book closer and scurrying out.

“Adorable,” Ophir said, shutting the door and nodding at the desk chair. “Sit, if you please.”

He did so. The owlfly held up a tube of lumaflies and peered into his eyes. “Say aahh.” Aahh. Tapped his shell. Turned his hand over, spreading the digits with a “hm.” Ran a finger along his arm, then said, “You are having issues with your magic.”

“… Yes. How in Terra did you know that?”

“I’m good at my job,” he replied easily. “There are tells, if you know what to look for. What happened?”

As with Aurora, he went into as little detail as possible. His magic had been contained. He broke the shackle with a barrier. It’d been contained again and it had been unbearable until the shackle removed.

If Ophir found this information lacking, he did not comment. “Well the good news is it should heal over time. A lot,” he stressed. “Of time. During which you should not use it. Your channels need time to heal. I’ll bring you some herbs you can make into tea that should help calm them, but time is key.”

Again he felt unexpectedly weepy. His magic wasn’t lost forever. He didn’t have to fight the Radiance; he had all the time in the world. “Okay,” he croaked. “Thank you.”

Ophir tilted his head. “You’re welcome.”

He produced some balm and bandages and began tending to his hand. He wove what looked like sticks in with the wrapping. “It is free of infection, somehow,” he said. “But you need to keep it as still as possible.”

Once wrapped he could not even bend the fingers, much less anything else. “Okay.”

“As for your eye—I do not want suggest _removing_ it. It is surprisingly clean. Was it tended to after the initial damage?”

“Some sort of liquid was poured into it,” he muttered. “It burned.”

“Good. I mean—I imagine it hurt. That’s not good. But that means they knew to disinfect it. If you ever intend to dig, which you should not do any time soon, you should wear goggles. I can get you a pair. Otherwise it should be fine. Does any other part of your shell hurt?”

“N- no. I’m just tired.”

“Understandable,” Ophir said. “There is a hot spring in your bath-”

“ _There is?_ ” Was this a shining benefit of a smaller palace? Better plumbing? 

“- that I highly recommend, both for its healing properties and the simple fact that you are rather stinky.”

Gwyn couldn’t even be angry. He thanked him, and Ophir said he would send the herbs and goggles soon before leaving. 

He ventured into said bath. A hot spring pooled in a marble tub lined with various soaps. White fluffy towels hung nearby, and he immediately clambered into the water. It was with herculean effort that he remembered to not soak his injured hand as well.

He usually preferred cold, but the heat seeping into his shell was heavenly. After ten minutes of simply sitting there, half asleep, he investigated the soaps. They smelled of flowers and spices and he mind skipped straight to all; twenty minutes later he was squeaky clean and soaking again.

If you get out, he reasoned sleepily. You can sleep in a bed. This was a stellar argument. He climbed out and dried and collapsed in the bed. Someone had left Ophir’s mentioned herbs and goggles on the nightstand. He curled up and was instantly asleep.

* * *

The bed was so soft. The pillows were so soft. The blankets were so soft. They smelled of lavender and he was sleepy but not pained and he cooed happily, burying his face a bit more. For a few minutes more, he allowed himself to dwell in this bliss.

Did he have to get up, though? Hornet had said to rest. It would be rude to disregard her words.

He did not completely fall back asleep, but he did remain in bed. There was a knock at the door and he managed an, “Enter.” A servant came in with a tray of food. He scarfed it down, a steamed tiktik over something sauced in something—he had not registered any of it before it was in his stomach. 

The servant stared.

He stared.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” the servant replied.

They left. He resumed resting, content to watch the rain pitter against the window when suddenly there was a rather small bug at said window. They pressed their mask against the glass, tilted their head, then slid something through where the glass met and flipped the lock up. They pushed the window open and hopped into the room.

He was still trying to process how much they looked like a smaller Hollow as they hopped onto the bed, dripping onto the nice sheets. This broke him of his reverie, and he picked them up by the back of their cloak. “What,” he croaked.

They gestured with, based on the extent of certain gestures, he guessed was sign language. “What.”

They disappeared in a wink of void, reappearing at the edge of the bed. They hopped off, jumped at the door knob, and clung to it as it opened. He hurried out of bed and threw his clothing on to follow.

The tiny possible-Vessel led him down to the base floor, winding their way through the halls before ending up at a dining room. They turned and threw their arms up, clearly pleased.

“Good job,” he said automatically.

They sat in a chair not three away from what he presumed was Hornet’s right. “I’m not sure you should sit there.” They patted the one next to them. “Nor I there.” Faster patting. A sudden wave.

He tilted his head, then turned behind him. He had to look up to properly view the massive beetle. 

“I see you’ve met Ghost,” Herrah said. “Wonderful. I trust they will annoy you endlessly.”

The tiny bug, Ghost, gave a thumbs up.

“Herrah,” he said. “You…” Look well. She did, her shell gleaming. Are awake. She was. Excellent observation, Gwyn, don’t try too hard. “Are they-”

“Yes,” she said. 

“- a Vessel?” he asked, for clarification. 

“Yes,” she repeated, sounding annoyed. Ah, that was the Herrah he knew. “I see they took it upon themselves to invite you to dinner.”

Oh. Was that what had been going on? “I can leave.”

“No, no, Hornet will insist. You are not the oddest bug Ghost has invited.”

Ghost was still patting the chair next to it.

“Do sit so it stops.” He sat, the Vessel wiggling in its seat. He felt they should wait for Hornet, but Herrah did not seem to share his concern, sitting in the chair directly to the center one’s right. Ghost gestured.

“Ghost wishes to tell you that you are, in their exact words, a doo-doo head,” Herrah said, her voice flat. He couldn’t help but giggle, prompting more gesturing.

“They wish you would take their words more seriously.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “You are right, Ghost. I am a doo-doo head.”

Gesturing. “They say this is acceptable for now, and that they will be stealing your dessert course.”

He suppressed another giggle. The existence of this small Vessel, a creation he had discarded so many years ago, was horrifying. Its actions were terribly endearing, making it that much harder to settle on how he felt.

Heavy footfalls drew his attention to the door. Hornet was gently coaxing a massive bug into the room.

A massive bug with a familiar, three-pronged mask, even if the right horn was broken in half and a crack ran down its mask. Its left arm was missing, its right clinging to Hornet. A faint, white light was visible through its shell at its midsection. It stopped a few paces into the room, looking up, and he could hear its breathing, chunky like gargling rocks.

Hollow met his gaze and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... really love comments... and these bugs... so here I am.
> 
> Ghost has learned lockpicking. Ghost will not be stopped.


	16. A Royal Supper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn sits through an awkward dinner, and learns more about how the Radiance was defeated.

Gwyn had not yet fully processed Hollow’s presence before the Vessel teleported, grabbing his neck and lifting him out of the chair. He stared, bringing a hand to Hollow’s. Its grip tightened and he winced.

“Hollow,” Hornet said. The Vessel screamed again and shoved him back into the chair, its voice breaking into a series of monotone chirps as it limped back to Hornet. Sometimes its voice would tilt into a crackly, upset chirrup for a few moments before going monotone again. It shoved its head into Hornet’s hand and bellowed lowly, the sound reverberating in his chest.

Gwyn’s heart clenched. He had misjudged its purity _horribly_. 

“I know sweetie,” Hornet murmured, scritching either side of its mask. Ghost teleported next to them and chirruped at the larger Vessel. “He can help you, okay?” Another low bellow. “I know. I’m sure Ghost was just trying to help. Do you want him to leave?”

Hollow looked at him, turned back to Hornet and pressed its head into her chest. After a minute it shook its head.

“Okay.” Ghost teleported back to its seat, and Hornet led the massive Vessel to the seat to her left. She pulled a maggot bite from her cloak and it gulped it down. Lurien joined them a few minutes later, sitting next to him.

Servants brought out the first course, a wonderful smelling crawlid and vegetable soup, but his appetite was gone despite his yawning stomach. Hollow simply stuck its face in the bowl and drank; “Ghost, you have to use your manners,” Hornet said, the smaller Vessel pouting before picking up its spoon.

“Eat,” Lurien murmured. 

“I’m not hungry,” he said, glancing at Hollow.

“Just a little.” He begrudgingly took a bite. It encouraged him to take a few more, though he mostly stirred the soup without eating.

Dinner was quiet and awkward and he knew it to be his fault. The main course was braised gruzzer stuffed in an herbed bread and drizzled with honey. “Smaller bites, Hollow,” Hornet chided gently. He idly pulled one apart before finally eating it. It was delicious, but his stomach would not stop clenching.

Ghost reached over and pulled his plate in front of itself. He did not stop it and it munched on the others with gusto. Dessert was some sort of pastry and he wordlessly pushed his plate towards Ghost. The tiny Vessel held its arms up in victory.

The plates were cleared. “I’m going to get Hollow to bed,” Hornet said. “Gwyn. Come help me.”

He was not sure his presence would be helpful, but he wordlessly got up and followed them. The handrails, he realized, were too tall for most bugs but an ideal height for Hollow. 

“They usually feel better after a meal,” Hornet said. She shook a bag of what he guessed were maggot bites to encourage Hollow up the last of the stairs before giving it a couple. He’d never fed Hollow. Had it been starving the whole time? 

“Do you want to sleep in my room? Or yours?” Hornet asked it. It pressed its face against her chest again. “Okay. My room it is.”

Hornet led them through the first door. Her room discarded the light blue of the kingdom for earthy browns and greens and bright reds. She set her needle in a holder by the bed, which more resembled a weaver’s nest with extra pillows and blankets. In front of the hearth was another nest, a large basket fluffed with blankets and a couple pillows. Hollow curled up in it with a chirp, and Hornet poked the fire back to life.

“Hollow has separation issues,” Hornet said as she pulled some of the blankets over its bulk. He. He’d given a perfectly good Vessel anxiety. Ghost bolted into the room, burrowing under the blankets before popping back up to press against Hollow. They chirped at one another. It was adorable. He’d murdered thousands of their kin. _No cost too great._ They were his creations—his children—and he’d murdered them. 

“May I be excused?” he whispered.

“No,” Hornet said sharply. He nodded and her stance softened, if only a little.

He walked over to the nest, hesitating a moment before reaching out. Hollow stilled but did not pull away. He placed a hand on their mask. Hollow cooed and leaned into his touch. Sweetly. Lovingly. He did not deserve their love. 

Their Shade was damaged; he could sense it even without searching with his magic. “What happened?” 

“Hollow,” Hornet said softly. After a minute of quiet their breathing evened out with sleep and she continued. “Knew they were breaking. With the last of their strength they turned inward and defeated the Radiance. As you can see, they succeeded, though at a great cost to themselves.”

Ghost yawned mutely before falling asleep as well, snuggling closer to their sibling.

“Monomon has spent years trying to figure out how to best repair them,” Hornet said. “But they are fragile, in a number of ways. They also refuse to see the Maskmaker—she said it was likely because they hated her from before, having to go through so many masks. The process of transferring their Shade is apparently painful.”

Masks he’d commissioned. He had not known the process hurt. Would it have stopped him if he’d known? Probably not.

“When Lurien told me he’d located you, my first thought was to leave you. It was a fitting fall,” she said. “The Dreamers could hear Hollow while they slept. Distant at first, but they were always an agonized presence in their minds. Monomon said their fracturing was almost a relief; at least they could scream.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwyn whispered.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” Hornet said. “Hollow. Ghost. Ghost met the White Lady. She told, commanded, they replace Hollow. Life may be her domain, but she cared no more for the Vessels than you did.”

“Don’t,” he snarled. She was right, but a defensiveness still stirred in him at the slight against his Lady.

Hornet ignored him. “And to the citizens of Hallownest, for leaving. We have a maid here. Shard. He was the first bug to approach us, when we were first rebuilding, to offer his services. He’d lost his son to the infection years after you’d disappeared. He’d been rotted from the inside out and become an empty husk. The husks didn’t recover when the Radiance was defeated. So many bugs returned. It made the ones that didn’t all the more painful. Shard cried and for weeks Hollow wouldn’t eat or rest, consumed by guilt. I am still not sure they truly accept that none of this was their fault.”

He wanted to say he left for a good reason. It’d been for Hallownest. But had it been? He’d been certain before, but now… now he didn’t know. Perhaps it had been nothing but cowardice.

“So I wanted to leave you. Lurien and Monomon convinced me that since you had created the Vessels, you would know best how to repair them. Hollow is usually… stoic, but I know their condition pains them,” Hornet said. “I trust, once you are recovered, you will devote yourself entirely to this goal.”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

“Good,” Hornet said. “Now, leave me, before you wake them up.”

Gwyn bowed and hurried to his room, shutting the door and palming his eyes. _No cost too great._ He'd been a fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know who doesn't get roasted enough for her part in all this? The White Lady. At least Hornet had a long term plan for dealing with the Infection. The White Lady was just like snap snap little Vessel go fight your sibling until some other comes along to replace you.


	17. Thorns and Thistle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn seeks out the White Lady, and learns he is not the only one to have failed his people.

Gwyn did not attend another dinner. He was not invited, and he had no interest in imposing himself. A servant would bring him his meals, and he spent most of his time in his room.

He told himself it was because he was supposed to be resting. Another part of him told him that was bull, and that he was hiding. From Hornet. From Hollow. Not from Ghost, as the tiny Vessel cared not about boundaries. If they wanted in his room, they were going to get into his room. They never did much, though they’d often give the room as a whole a sweeping look before staring at him. He felt judged. He had no idea what for.

He knew he should not be doing this. He was lonely, achingly so, and still he mumbled weariness as an excuse.

A knock at the door, followed by a familiar, “Gwyn?” He looked away from the window and opened it.

Lurien stepped into the room and he closed the door. The centipede looked around, then at him, tilting his head. “You are not confined here, you know.”

“I am aware.” Hornet had already told him he was free to wander the palace and City. An exceedingly kind offer, even if he sensed it was only there so he would not go back on his plans to help Hollow. 

“Why don’t you explore the City? It would be good for you to get out of this room.”

“I suppose.”

“You can always visit the Spire, and we have many new vendors, and the Festival of Wakening is coming up.”

He did not recognize this. “Festival?” 

“It celebrates Hollow’s defeat over the plague and the renewed strength of Hallownest. It’s fun. Even Hollow enjoys it, though I think that’s just because everyone gives them snacks for a week straight.”

“That’s good.” It was. 

Lurien sighed, taking his hand and squeezing it lightly. “I do want you to be happy, Gwyn.”

Lurien was sweet. He’d always been sweet, even when Gwyn had kept everyone at a distance. Was he doing any differently now? “I’m fine.”

Hollow. The Vessels. The people he’d left to rot because of his _plans_ , his stupid plans. Guilt gnawed at him and yet a small part of him still whispered _You should be King_ and he had to stamp this down, down, _down_. 

“Gwyn?”

He looked up. “Sorry. I’m fine. I… what did you say?”

“I was asking if you wanted to come to the Spire.”

Oh. Ooh, how he still wanted to say no and just mope here. “Sure. Yes.”

* * *

He had barely pulled his mask on when Lurien hooked an arm through his and led him downstairs. Had he eaten? No. He had only picked at the breakfast brought up. Lurien pulled him into the kitchens, procuring a sticky bun from a basket by the oven labeled SOMEONE FORCE FEED HORNET ON COURT DAYS.

“Where is Hollow?” he asked, sticky bun consumed under Lurien’s stare. 

“Probably at a hot spring. Bathing, sleeping, or eating sums up most of Hollow’s day. It’s Ghost you’ve got to watch out for, not even Hornet can rein them in for more than an hour.”

At if on cue, said Vessel ran by with the entire basket of sticky buns, a tired chef running after them. 

“Endearing,” he found himself saying.

“Aren’t they? Monomon loves them. Before she moved back to her archive, her and Ghost and Quirrel got into all sorts of mischief.” The name Quirrel was vaguely familiar, but he could not place why.

They made their way outside. “The tarps are a good idea,” he said. 

Lurien huffed. “I suppose… we mostly put them up for Hollow. Then when we later suggested taking them down most of the City protested. The sewage, I said. Make it work, they cried. Our plumbing is now fantastic, I take sixty-percent of the credit.”

“And the other forty?” 

“Thirty goes to Monomon and her gaggle of inventors. Ten goes to Hollow. As much as we wanted to avoid it in the beginning, their size and strength was invaluable.”

Two guards stood outside the Spire, nodding at they entered. Lurien flipped the switch and the elevator rattled as it rose.

The peak of the Spire was the same organized mess he’d remembered, the walls filled with maps and notes and the ground littered with books and pillows. A massive telescope, a simple bronze with numerous lens, currently overlooked the eastern part of the city. 

He sat on a pillow. Lurien peered through the telescope. “Alas,” Lurien said. "It is nowhere near as quiet as it used to be. It is a good thing, though, something I’ve enjoyed watching. Feel free to read whatever. It’s mostly construction notes at this point.”

Free to be nosy, he picked up some nearby notes. They detailed decayed plumbing and plans to repair it; another was labeled “Plans for First Festival,” with the first note being to think of a name; an idea to install “constellations” in the City’s roof. “You still don’t throw anything out, I see.”

“Of course not. You never know when you’ll need something.”

It was nice, effectively catching up on Hallownest’s recovery through notes and reports while Lurien scribbled new ones. Well, mostly nice—he stumbled upon a list of husks burned at pyres as part of an effort to clean the city and had to take a break, letting Lurien show him a new lens Monomon had made for him. It made everything appear absurdly long and wobbly.

“Why?” he asked.

“My amusement,” Lurien replied.

A servant brought lunch, stared, then told Lurien he needed to _tell_ him when he had guests before running off. He shortly returned with another tray.

“I’m apparently hard to work with,” Lurien said.

“I asked you to be concise once, and you sent a twenty-three page report.”

“That was down from fifty-one.”

“Your handwriting is _tiny_.”

“It’s ridiculous!” the servant called as his way out of the room.

“I didn’t bring you here to be insulted,” Lurien huffed, though his tone was warm. “ _Herrah_ lives here now, and has not taken to picking on you instead. I was promised freedom, Gwyn.”

“I’m sure she is just waiting for the right moment.”

“I am so unappreciated,” Lurien said. Gwyn stole a sandwich from his tray. “Unbelievable.”

Their conversation drifted to various topics. The City. Hornet. Everyone loves her, Lurien said. Except the Soul Master, but he begrudgingly follows her. He was still here? Secluded, away from the bulk of the City with his mistakes. Monomon. She mostly stayed at her Library now, sending them inventions. That was always an adventure. 

Lurien informed him they _believed_ the White Lady was in the Queen’s Gardens. Ghost was stubbornly coy with her exact location, and none of them had explored it in its entirety, but the mosskin spoke of a figure that matched her description. The mosskin, Lurien said, were very upset about a lot of things and struggled to articulate it sometimes. “Me too,” Gwyn said. Lurien pushed his mask up so he could see him roll his eyes.

“… I miss her,” he admitted quietly.

Lurien pulled his mask back down, fingering drumming on the telescope. “I mean. If she would appear for anyone, it would be you, I’d think.”

“Should I ask Hornet?”

Lurien paused. “Probably,” he said, a bit awkwardly. “I imagine she wants to keep some sort of tabs on you.”

It was fair, if disgruntling. He stayed for dinner, then returned to the palace. 

* * *

He caught Hornet in the kitchens early the next day, his daughter glaring at him. “Shut up for two minutes,” she said. A servant pressed a mug of something into her hand. “Coffee.” He had no idea what that was.

He waited and she drained the mug. The servant swapped it with a fresh one they were carrying, then left. “Okay.”

“Oh,” Gwyn said. He. What had just happened? “Um. I was wondering if I could go to the Queen’s Gardens and search for the White Lady.”

Hornet sipped the new mug’s contents loudly.

“Not for too long,” he said nervously. “I could visit Monomon on the way back, and see what she’d come up with regarding Hollow.”

Hornet hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose,” she said. “The Queen’s Gardens are mostly safe. Perhaps you could convince her to leave, if you find her. The mosskin have agreed to increase trade with us if we could return the Gardens to them, but it is hard to negotiate with someone hidden, and our resources are stretched enough as it is.”

“So… that’s a yes?” he asked.

“Yes.”

* * *

“Oh hey. There _is_ a station here,” the Stag said a few hours later. “Very well hidden.”

Gwyn slid onto the platform and thanked him, the Stag nodding before scurrying back down the tunnel.

As he walked, he spotted the odd shy mosskin and, of all things, mantid. He called out to them and they retreated into the foliage or clung to high branches and did not reply. He was just going to have to search on his own, then.

He’d never been familiar with the Gardens, and he felt no wiser now. Thorns dug into him no matter how carefully he tread, and he was certain he’d passed the same statue five times now. It was immense relief he finally found something new, a grate above him that seemed to lead to a room. It opened with a small push and he climbed up.

He paused, bewildered. A campfire burned in the back corner of the crumbling building. Against the wall were two crates. And next to the fire was the Mantis Lord, a tea cup clutched carefully in his claws as he peered over rolls of parchment.

The Mantis Lord looked up. “Oh,” he said. “A surprise. The worm returns to root.”

For a long minute he just stared before blurting, “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he replied. 

“What about the Village?”

He tapped his cup, looking out a window. “It is not mine any longer. It has not been for quite some time.”

“Whose is it, then?”

“The Sisters of Battle.” Gwyn recognized the names; they’d been a part of the Lord’s inner circle. Why would they cast him out?

And the answer dawned on him. “The infection.”

The mantis sighed. “There is no shame in defeat. It is a way to grow. To turn away from the mantis, to doubt our strength and seek it elsewhere? There is no redemption from that. I… my apologies. My ramblings are not what you are here for.”

They weren’t, but it was clear from his dull gaze into his tea that he could use someone to ramble at. How many times had he just _talked_ to Hollow, even knowing he wouldn’t get a reply? “I can multitask.”

“I was afraid,” the mantis continued. “It is easy to fight _things_. How does one fight a thought? What if there were to be more strange afflictions? I accepted it, hoping it would strengthen me, enlighten me.

“The Sisters drove my followers and I from the Village. I have pondered over this decision since my recovery. Why not kill us? Why not kill me? Was it pity? I hesitate at mercy, for the plague killed many it took, but also at punishment. Our minds were not our own. It would mean nothing to us. Did they hope we would overcome it? I do not know. My own daughter became a husk, one I was too far gone to even bury myself. Another bug did. 

“I approached the Sisters years ago, to allow us back into the Village. Our young, and those who had been young when we first succumbed, were allowed to return. A kindness my words understate. 

“Yet now I host grieving parents and bugs whose loyalty led them astray, who long to return home. They deserve better, but I know not how to convince the Sisters. These Gardens… they do not welcome us. We repel the mosskin when we must, we’ve forced a place out of it, but it feels wrong. These Gardens long for their tenders, but I must attend to the safety of my people. Here. Elsewhere, though I know not where elsewhere would be. I am, alas, still afraid.”

The mantid of the Gardens seemed to avoid the Lord’s dwelling just as much as they had avoided him. From what he remembered of them, they were rather social bugs, even if they were cold to outsiders.

“Lord-” Gwyn said.

“Of what, dare I ask? Thistle is fine.”

“Thistle,” Gwyn amended. “I am sure, given time, the Sisters will come around.”

“On me? Never.”

“Perhaps the others, then.”

Thistle was quiet for a minute, claw tapping, before saying, “You think I am being selfish.”

“Understandably,” he assured.

“Your words are cold,” Thistle said, sighing. “But wise. Thank you. Now, I imagine you wish to see your Lady, not humor an old mantis.”

“You’ve seen her?”

“Seen? No. Heard, yes. She is that way,” and he pointed with a claw to the path behind him. “I assumed she could kick my butt, so I have not ventured any closer.”

He turned towards the path. Thistle’s shoulders immediately slumped and he found himself hesitating. The mantis was clearly lonely, and he felt drawn to him and his plight.

“I mean,” he said, turning back and adjusting his mask. “Is she okay?”

“Sometimes I hear her sing. Her voice sounds strong.”

“Then I suppose there is no rush.”

Thistle brightened immediately. “I’ll make more tea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, squishing Traitor Lord’s face: There is a soft boi under there.


	18. The White Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Queen without a kingdom is not much a Queen at all.

The tea was made from old, dried herbs despite the Garden around them, but Gwyn did not comment beyond thanking him. Mantid occasionally peered down at them, but never spoke and disappeared after a few minutes. Thistle would stare after them with longing.

They sat in a companionable quiet, broken only by Thistle softly asking if he’d like more tea. Sure. Gwyn extended his stay through the pot. He should go, he finally said. Yes, this mantis agreed, in a voice that clearly said no. Perhaps he could visit again? If the Sisters rejected his second plead, that would be delightful. 

Gwyn left, following Thistle’s directions. Not a hundred feet passed before corpses of mantid began to litter the pathway, though it was clear by the careful placement of leaves and rocks that some attempt at a grave had been made. They also appeared to have been struck down by a nail, not the roots his Lady would use.

The path dropped off, and he squinted to ensure there was grass below before climbing down. Flowers bloomed and vines grew in greater abundance, a clear sign of his Lady, even if her aura was strangely absent. He pushed a particularly thick cloak of moss aside. 

Crouched in front of a crude doorway framed with vines, her nail’s point buried in the dirt as she leaned on it for support, was Dryya. Hemolymph bled sluggishly from cracks in her shell, old wounds that had not healed properly. Despite this, she hissed and shakily got to her feet, pointing her nail at him. “Who are you?” she croaked.

“Gwyn. Dryya-”

“What is your business here?”

“To see my Lady. You are _bleeding_ -”

“ _Your_ Lady?”

“In the affectionate sense!” Oh. No. He needed to backtrack; of his Knights, he’d only ever shared his name with Ogrim. “I am the Pale King. Now please-”

“Nonsense,” Dryya said, her wheeze shaking her shell. “You just said ‘please.’”

Anger sparked through him. He would not have a Knight bleed out in front of him or keep him from his Lady because he’d developed scant social skills. “Move, Dryya,” he said, a frostiness lacing his voice.

She froze, then with a very soft “oh,” stepped aside and knelt. He strode past her and into the grove.

Then he stopped. She was still injured. He turned back to her. “Dryya. Rise. Why hasn’t she healed you?”

Dryya rose, wincing and leaning on her nail. “She is predisposed.”

Dread washed through him and he bolted down the path. Was she hurt? Was she being attacked? He-

Skidded to a stop in front of a familiar, tree-like figure. The White Lady squinted, then beamed and said, “My dear Wyrm.”

He couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, drawing an offended huff from her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, stifling it. “I just- Dryya said _predisposed_ and I feared the worst and no- you are just-” He recognized her work. She’d done this herself. “Why in Terra’s name did you bind yourself?”

“To prevent my seed from spreading,” she huffed. “Don’t you ‘in Terra’s name’ me.”

This was her help? This had been her plan? Sweet Terra they _were_ a perfect match. Perfectly useless gods with useless plans. He did not tell her this, of course, but he did feel it safe to walk back to Dryya and borrow her nail. He returned and cut his Lady free.

She gingerly got to her feet. As always she appeared beyond delicate, as most lacewings did, but he knew she had a fierceness about her. She regained her balance, then scooped him up into her arms.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just surprised to find you like this.” She kissed the top of his head, and he returned it on her cheek before they nuzzled with happy coos.

“Adorable,” Dryya said dryly, limping into the glade. “Truly. Since you are free now, my Lady, may I not continue my slow, albeit heroic, descent into the grave?”

“Oh,” the White Lady said, giggling a bit. “Of course. My apologies, dear Dryya. Come closer. My vision remains a fog.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. I fear it a result of trying to peer into the Vessel’s dream… though perhaps it is just age.”

She placed a hand on Dryya’s head, continuing to hold him in the other. A soft green light washed over her, the Knight’s shell knitting closed and her footing more surer. 

“Thank you, my Lady,” Dryya said. “M- my King. I apologize, I did not realize-”

He waved her words away. “I am King no more. It is fine.” 

The shock was palpable from both Knight and Lady, the latter finally asking, “Then what are you?”

Wow. Okay. “A very tired idiot.”

Dryya giggled. The White Lady shot her a glare. Her giggling continued. “Well _he_ said it, not me. Does this mean the plague has passed… ah…”

“Gwyn.”

“Gwyn?”

Had they never left here? He supposed, if Dryya was tasked with protecting his Lady, it would make sense. But the White Lady had always been able to sense the going ons of the Kingdom. “Yes.”

“And you do not rule?” his Lady asked.

“No. Herrah’s child, Hornet, does. She had for a few years now.”

“I remember her,” Dryya said brightly. “She called the Palace stupid when she was but a grubling. Indefensible. Except ‘un-dwe-fence-able.’”

He smiled at this. “She is a good ruler.”

“I had sensed a… change,” the White Lady admitted. “But I had not sensed you, so I feared it a machination of the Radiance. Still, with you in front of me, I do not sense you proper.”

“Oh,” he said. “That will hopefully return with time. I am afraid my magic is a bit useless to me right now.”

The White Lady pressed another kiss to his cheek and he cooed.

Dryya sheathed her nail. “We should join this new Hallownest, no? The absence of plague explains why the mantid stopped attacking, but I do not trust them.”

“Hornet,” Gwyn ventured. “Did say it would be beneficial. The mosskin yearn to return home.”

“Ah,” the White Lady said. “Alas, I have grown rather fond of these Gardens. If you do not rule, dear Wyrm, I fear there is little place for me.”

“Nonsense,” he said. Hornet wanted her to leave the Gardens; he was certain she would accommodate the Lady at the palace in return. Softly, he added, “Is my side not enough?”

The stretch of quiet was answer enough, even when she broke it to say, “Of course it is.”

“You don’t need to lie to me.” 

Another stretch, during which Dryya developed an intense fascination with a nearby flower. “I am not,” the White Lady finally said. “I need time to think, to ponder my place. A Queen is befitting a god. A citizen? It is a strange prospect. One I did not expect you to so easily fall into, yet here you are, bearing a message not your own.”

“I wanted to seek you out,” he said, a knot forming in his stomach. Had he been foolish to think him enough? He supposed so.

“This I believe. A sweetness has returned to you, one I have dearly missed,” she said, stroking his face, lingering near his injured eye. He leaned in to her touch. “But there is something else, something I cannot place.”

She set him down. “Go. Bring this message to your Queen,” she punctuated those last two words. A hurt he had not expected nestled in his chest. “I will consider her plight.”

“Okay,” he said softly. He hesitated, then walked back to the mossy curtain. He glanced back to see she had moved to perch on a branch higher up, and with a heavy sigh he pushed his way through the curtain.

Thistle was gone, replaced by two mantid who were carefully filling a small box with tea leaves. They stared, set the box in a crate, and disappeared into the trees. 

“… You need to talk about it?” the Stag asked. He shook his head, climbing into the seat and pulling his mask off to rub his eyes. He was being stupid. She could do whatever she wanted. She could take all the time she needed. 

“Did you find her?” Herrah asked. Hornet was helping a weary Shard round up Ghost, she’d explained, leaving Herrah to wrap up Court for the day. The issues of many a bug had suddenly become not so urgent.

“Yes,” he mumbled. It was then he realized he’d forgotten to go to Monomon’s Library. “She will… consider Hornet’s plight.”

Herrah tsk’d with the disapproval of these words he expected.

“I apologize. I forgot to go to the Library. I will leave now,” he said.

Herrah nodded and he left the room. He was not in any rush, he supposed, so he stopped by the kitchens. His expression must have been pitiful, because they filled a basket with sweets and shoved it into his arms. He thanked them and shakily pulled his mask back on.

He was well into his second sticky roll and almost at the main doors when Ghost slid down a stairwell and clung to him. It was a poor hiding spot from Shard, the beetle appearing a few moments later. 

“Give it,” Shard said. Very slowly, the Vessel reached into their cloak and produced a stamp. The maid snatched it up. “Thank you. Sorry.”

Ghost stared up at him. He stared back. They extended a hand. He gave them a sticky roll. 

“Do you want to come to the Library with me?” he found himself asking.

Ghost, as they shoved the entire sticky roll into their mouth, nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Undwefenceable._


	19. Monomon's Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monomon.
> 
> MONOMON.

Ghost seemed eager to reach the Stag Station. They had to wait nearly an hour for the Stag to actually answer their bell—”There is only one Stag, after all,” the stationmaster said—but when he finally arrived, Ghost held their hand up and the Stag gently fistbumped them. The Vessel bounced in place a few times before clambering into the saddle. 

“You were just here,” the Stag said good-naturedly as Gwyn climbed aboard. 

“I am forgetful,” he said,

“Me too!” Four more bugs joined them, and then they were off.

Queen’s Station remained the closest to the Library, and Gwyn was not too excited to traverse Fog Canyon. It was _hot_. Ghost disembarked without waiting for him, and he hurried after the little Vessel.

Ooma floated about, and Ghost promptly drew their nail and smacked one. Its core darted towards them and they leapt out of the way, letting it hit the wall behind them. Gwyn winced as dirt showered them both.

“Perhaps let’s… not explode things,” he said. Ghost stared at another Ooma for a long moment before sheathing their nail.

Winding stairs led up to the Library, but Ghost insisted on a path that sometimes required him to climb up the mossy walls as they hopped from outcropping to outcropping. Each time he caught up, they would be jumping in place, ethereal wings sometimes sprouting from their back.

“How did you-” and then with a chirp Ghost would be gone again. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Given they weren’t in any rush, climbing up with one hand was less tiring and more tedious. Finally they reached a Library, Ghost bouncing eagerly.

It was not at all like he remembered. Books lined the walls, and lumaflies were carefully contained. Ooma were not. A handful of bugs sat at desks and sofas, reading and taking notes. Cooling crystals hung from the ceiling, bringing the building to a much more tolerable temperature than the air outside.

“Ah!” a blue pillbug said, wearing a simple hood and mask. “Friend! Welcome back. Please do not eat the lumafly.”

Ghost released a lumafly they had caught and proceeded to bounce around the pillbug before clambering onto his shoulder.

“Hello!” the pillbug said, turning to him. “Welcome to the Library. I’m Quirrel, the Teacher’s apprentice. Please do not touch the ooma—Ghost _do not_ touch the ooma—and place any books you do not want in the return cart.”

“Thank you,” he said. He still did not recognize the bug, but he did now recall Monomon detailing additional layers of protection she was planning with an apprentice. “I was actually hoping I could see Monomon herself.”

Ghost poked Quirrel’s cheek, signing something to him. The pillbug paused, looked at him, looked back to Ghost, looked incredulously at him, then back to Ghost. “But he said ‘thank you.’” Ghost shrugged.

“I’m right here,” Gwyn said wearily.

“Oh! Yes, my apologies, friend. Monomon is in the middle of a presentation, but I’m sure she’d be happy to see you after. I’ll show you to her study.”

“Thank you.”

The lower levels remained as haphazard as he remembered, lumaflies sparking and stairs simply ending. Quirrel led them into a small room, two squashy armchairs and a desk taking up much of the space, books upon books filling the walls. Lumaflies flew about freely, providing inconsistent light. Ghost climbed on the back of an armchair to try and catch one. Quirrel excused him and left.

Monomon drifted in twenty minutes later, as unhurried as ever. Quirrel squeezed his way into the room and placed a large tome on a shelf. “Wyrm!” she exclaimed. “What a delightful surprise. I theorized the odds of your death low-”

“Monomon.” If she got started it could well be a week before they got elsewhere.

“- but your abandonment quite high! I remain both correct and incorrect. A delightful science, guessing, modulated by time and changes unforeseeable-”

“ _Monomon._ ”

“That is I! How quick you are to try and wear it out. Oh, dear Ghost says you are Gwyn. _Gwyn._ How familiar for such a lofty creature. How wearisome though are titles.” 

She drifted over, immediately prodding his damaged eye. He reached for the tendril, missed, grabbed a lower part of it that was in his field of vision. She lifted his bandaged hand with another, undeterred. “This is why I prefer my squishier form. Things just regrow! Could have been squishier, Gwyn. Could have been squishier.”

She let go and drifted to her desk. “Now, what brings you to my humble archive? Have you been here long? I ask because I have received a distinct _lack_ of messages informing me of your return. They refuse to use my ooma-resistant maskfly. I have no idea why.”

“It is a mystery,” Quirrel said mildly.

“Barely two weeks.”

“I suppose,” Monomon said, sighing. “That is an acceptable length of time to go uninformed. Regardless. What brings you here?”

“Hornet says you’ve been researching how to repair Hollow. I was wondering if I could see what you’ve come up with.”

“Delightful! Of course. It is… here,” and with two tendrils she extracted numerous scroll cases from a nearby shelf, plopping them on her desk. “Help yourself!”

* * *

Much of her research was derived from their original plans with the Vessels. He had opened most of them at this point, and wearily rubbed his eyes when Monomon spoke up again. “I think this would be the most viable course,” she hummed, pointing to a sketch of a rectangular container apparently being fed Void from an attachment. A third attachment was labeled FOR EXPULSION.

He studied it. The Void would feed into the central chamber with Hollow’s Shade. Based on the notes around it, this Void would, in theory, forcibly remove the remnants of Light within the Shade while filling the new gaps. The Light would be gathered in the final chamber and could later be discarded.

“This seems solid,” he said. “Why haven’t you done it?”

A hum. “We would need to travel to the Abyss for enough Void. Ghost can open the door-”

“Wait, they can?”

“But the Void is hostile to them, and this upsets them. Hollow also refuses to let us replace their mask, though ideally this would be done after their Shade is healed. Hornet could probably command Hollow do it—they are not quite as… free-spirited as Ghost here is—but she doesn’t want to.”

“How can Ghost open the door?”

“Something to do with your corpse and a brand?”

“What?”

“Oh, you don’t know the details either. You should really be more careful when you discard massive bodies.”

He rolled his eyes. “Duly noted. Have you built a prototype?”

She twirled eagerly. “I’m so glad you asked! I, in fact, have.”

She led him to another part of her study, home to haphazard piles of stuff that whistled and clicked. “I just get so many ideas at once,” she said. “I’ll finish them all eventually.”

Perched on a shelf was a glass container, about five by three feet, with two globe-like attachments. She pulled it down and placed it on a nearby desk, squashing stacks of papers. “Here we go.”

A single hatch opened to the main chamber, and both globes could be opened, detached, and their valves to the main one closed off. A filter could be pulled out between it and the one supposed to hold excess Light. It seemed _excellent_. “I also think this is the best idea.” It wouldn’t require any effort on Hollow’s part. He supposed it would be painful, at least when the Light was removed, but surely this was a small cost to pay? 

Monomon chimed happily. “You could gather the Void we need! Then we could show this to Hornet again. I do understand not wanting to hurt Hollow. I do! I don’t want to either! But I do think the end result would be worth it. The two of us have made more than enough constructs to ensure it goes smoothly.”

“… Yes,” he agreed. Constructs. He supposed, given Monomon had no part in what properly brought them to life, they would be just constructs to her. Or at the very least, it was easier for her to pretend so. Granted, he had not viewed them any differently even after giving slivers upon slivers of his being to them, felt no remorse in taking it back and tossing them aside.

“I’ll have it sent the the palace, then!” Monomon said. “I have been wanting to visit. Herrah just loves me.”

For some reason he doubted this, but he just chirped noncommittally. A couple of servants were summoned to package it, and Monomon led him back up to the library proper.

Ghost was, by all appearances, reading. Well, skimming. The stack of books by them all seemed to be fairy tales. The Vessel looked up and held a hand above them for a moment.

“Are you… reviewing them for Hollow?” A nod. 

“Ghost has taken it upon themselves to ensure Hollow only reads books with happy endings,” Quirrel called from a shelf.

That was… adorable. Monomon set a glossy bag next the Vessel.

“I prefer most books not leave the Library. The humidity of Hallownest is awful for them! But who am I to say no to Ghost?” And then, in a mutter, “They’ll just steal them otherwise.”

Ghost wiggled happily in their seat. Signed something to her. “No, no, it is still stealing even if you later return them.”

“You can sign as well?” Gwyn asked. Had they all learned it? It was both endearing and a bit surprising, especially from the often gruff Herrah.

“Ooh. Alas, it is difficult to sign with these noodles,” she said, wiggling her tendrils a bit. “But I can understand theirs. Quirrel is the one who taught us. He learned it from Somewhere Else. How exciting, Somewhere Else!”

“It’s really not,” Gwyn muttered. She giggled, a light, near musical noise.

“Perhaps he could teach you! We’ve found that Ghost translating for Hollow is the best way to communicate with them. Signing is difficult for Hollow, what with having one hand, but the Vessels seem to have their own language in the form of clicks and chirps and the like. It is quite interesting!”

She twirled. “I was hoping you could understand them, though it sounds-”

“I cannot.”

A disappointed chime. “Oh well! I suppose this means it is a language derived from Void,” she said, immediately cheerful again. “I’ve tried to get Ghost to help me understand it, but the noises often sound very similar. Perhaps it is more of a gist than a word-for-word translation?”

“I do not know. Being able to understand them in some way does sound useful, though.”

Monomon hummed. “Quirrel!” The pillbug merely pushed his ladder along to be closer. “Would you be so kind as to teach Gwyn here sign language?”

“Certainly.”

* * *

It took a couple days for Monomon to be ready to travel (”I simply _must_ have an adequate lab! Hornet won’t provide me one at the palace. Something about safety,”) so he spent the time learning from Quirrel. The pillbug also provided a neatly penned cheat sheet. Remembering the signs was easy enough; using them with one hand was not. Still, the most important thing was being able to understand them.

Ghost’s tiny hands did not always make the clearest signs, and they gestured rapidly, making it difficult for him to follow. “It’s good practice,” Quirrel said. Ghost’s intent was easier to follow, at least, as they were quite expressive despite lacking facial features.

Finally they were ready. Ghost filled their bag with books and held it out to Gwyn. He shouldered it without comment, the Vessel giving a thumbs up before bouncing ahead. Monomon drifted alongside Quirrel, three servants carrying her precariously balanced crates of supplies.

Once back in the City they spotted a sentry perched on a pile of boxes reading off instructions—“Additional vendors are to set up in sections C through G…”—while other bugs worked on hanging up banners imprinted with alternating silhouettes of Hollow and Hornet’s masks.

“Oh!” Monomon said, clasping two tendrils together. “The Festival is soon! I always lose track of time, how exciting!” Ghost threw their arms up, possibly simply caught up in Monomon’s excitement. 

The palace was similarly busy. The doors to the throne room were open, a line of bugs visible past the doorway. “Herrah!” Monomon singsonged, tendrils twirling as she entered the room. The bugs turned for only a few moments before returning their attention to Hornet sitting on the throne. She was speaking to a yellow aphid, their voices too soft to be heard.

“She’s not here,” Hornet then called, Herrah looming beside her.

“Ma’am,” Monomon said, drifting up and clasping one of Herrah’s hands. Her voice choked up, she said, “I’m so honored to meet Herrah’s long lost sibling.”

“Shard!” Herrah called. “Wine!” The beetle set down his duster and trotted off.

“Please,” Hornet said, turning her head towards the two. “Children. I’m working.” The aphid snorted and quickly put a hand to their mask. 

Shard returned, extending a glass towards Herrah. “I’ll take that,” Hornet said, and immediately he offered it to her instead. “Thank you. Monomon, you know where your quarters are.”

“I wanted to say heeellloo,” she chimed.

“Hello,” Hornet said. She then offered the glass to the aphid, who held it preciously. “Workers will be sent to your residence to repair the water damage, along with an appraiser. Geo for lost property will be paid out after. Unfortunately, there will be a delay as we prepare for the festival, but you are welcome to stay here until your home is repaired. Is this acceptable?”

“O- oh,” the aphid squeaked, clutching the glass. “Y- yes, your Majesty. Thank you!”

A sentry led them out. Hornet glanced at Monomon. “Thank you for bringing disorder to my court. You may go now.”

Monomon hummed happily, scooping Ghost up before they could climb onto the throne and drifting out of the room, trailed by Quirrel and her servants. Gwyn followed.

Her quarters were on the royal floor, though notably as far away from the other occupied rooms as possible. “I may have been too…” she sighed, sinking into the hammock that hung in place of a bed. “Focused on the _theory_ of fixing Hollow at first. I had so many ideas to try! I make them nervous now.”

Gwyn rubbed his temples. “Great.” He hoped they would not have to force Hollow into anything. 

Ghost tugged at his cloak and he looked down. [Books,] they signed. Books? Oh. He handed them the bag. It was thrice their size, but they determinedly teetered out of the room and down the hall.

A servant and Quirrel pulled the container out of its crate and carefully set it on the desk. Monomon drifted over.

“Ready to go to the Abyss?” she asked cheerfully.

No. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by my cat's desperate begging for pets.


	20. No Cost Too Great

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Void does not forgive those who harm its children.

“You can’t leave now,” Hornet said the next morning. Her, Gwyn, Monomon, and Herrah sat at the end of the dining table, picking at a tray of pastries. Ghost kept trying to drag the entire tray away, Herrah finally holding it in place with a hand. “The festival is tomorrow.”

“Then it’ll be a whole week before we leave!” Monomon argued.

“Hollow will not collapse before then. Besides, this is their festival. I want them to enjoy it, not be worrying about you two in the Abyss.”

“We traveled there many times before their creation. We’ll be fine with a couple guards.”

Hornet hummed, pouring herself another mug of coffee. Gwyn had tried the substance and found it vile. “Still. It is… unnerving. Dangerous. I want to you wait until the festival ends so you can bring sufficient guard. I would like Hallownest’s lead scientist _and_ my father to return in one piece.”

Gwyn’s heart soared. She cared! About him! Okay, he reasoned, she clearly had before now, what with allowing him to stay in the palace, but for some reason her referring to him as “father” instead of the usual “Gwyn” brought him an indescribable joy.

“We can wait,” he assured. 

Hornet looked at Monomon, who gave a drawn out sigh. “Fiinnee.”

* * *

The palace was filled with bugs running about making last minute preparations, and the City streets were just as chaotic. He decided to simply stay out of the way, retreating to his room.

He woke to a rapping on his door, and he groggily stumbled out of bed to pull it open. Hornet stood there, a hand on her hip.

“Hollow wants you,” she said. She turned and he hesitated for a moment before following.

“Why?” 

“I don’t know.” 

She led him to the third door down, the room lit by a single lumafly lamp high above and a low burning hearth. Two beds, so different in size it was almost comical, lined the back wall. A nest similar to the one in Hornet’s room sat in front of the hearth, Ghost’s tiny form just visible among the blankets. A number of baskets about the room served as storage instead of any one cabinet or dresser, several overflowing with knickknacks. 

Hollow crouched by one of these baskets, still twice either of their heights. They were wrapped in a heavier cloak, threads shimmering in the weak light and it clasped with an old Hallownest seal. 

They chirped, Hornet walking over and scritching their mask. He followed, the Vessel tilting their head a bit to watch him approach but not moving away from Hornet.

Then they stood, taking the last step between them and looming over him. “I’m sorry,” he croaked. No apology would ever suffice for what he’d put them through. 

After a moment Hollow knelt, the motion sending a stab through his heart. “Don’t,” he said. He had caused Hollow untold suffering and still they were _his_ Knight, so instilled was what he had put in them.

This wasn’t right. On a day devoted to them, to their triumph over his mistakes, they should not be reassuring him they were his. 

“Hollow Knight,” he said. His voice threatened to fail him but Hollow tilted their head, listening. “I, Gwyn, the Pale King, Wyrm of the Restless Bluffs, hereby release you from your vows to the kingdom of Hallownest. Know you have gone above and beyond in your service to our kingdom.”

Another moment passed, then Hollow pressed their face into his chest, cooing. He pat their mask.

Then they stood, limping out of the room and letting out an echoing scream that dissolved into loud chirrups.

“You’re tolerable,” Hornet told him, before hurrying after her sibling. Ghost darted from the nest, leaving him alone in the room.

A part of him wanted to linger and see what items the Vessels had collected. He shook his head—don’t be nosy, he told himself—and left as well.

* * *

The lamplights of the City had been dimmed and a small amount of lumaflies released, casting everything in a soft, shifting blue. The rain pittered on the tarps above, the smell of freshly made food and incense wafting through the air.

Hornet had changed into a thicker cloak, dark blue with silver threading that shimmered like waves in the light. She stood on the edge of the fountain, Hollow as still as their statue next to her. The citizens of Hallownest had gathered before them, the crowd’s murmur quieting as she began to speak.

“For hundreds of years,” she said. “An infection plagued our land. Even if some of us did not give into the Light, all of us suffered by its hand. We watched it steal the will of those we love and bring our kingdom to ruin.

“Despite this, we endured. Through all the tragedy and sorrow, I saw bugs willing to fight for one another, to carve out a home and live. I saw a Hallownest worth saving.

“Six years ago, the Hollow Knight rose from their chains to strike down the infection’s heart. Six years ago, a cycle that threatened to form was broken; no one else would be called upon to sacrifice themselves. Through their defiance, we are free to dream no more.

“We cannot bring back those we lost. Their absence weighs at us, brings a pain that may never truly leave. They deserve to be here with us. But so do every one of us. We cannot bring them back, but we can honor by memory by living, by appreciating every day given to us.

"I implore each of you to remember. I also implore each of you to seek joy, to allow yourself to heal. To live.

"Thank you.”

She stepped down from the fountain. Hollow roared, shattering the somber rumination that had fallen over everyone. Gwyn stood, struggling to feel anything other than overwhelming guilt.

Hornet threaded her way through the dispersing crowd. A babble began to pick up, and Hollow headed towards the nearest food vendor. Splint fluttered after them, Ghost perching on the sentry’s shoulder.

Hornet’s pace was slow, allowing her to stop without seeming bothered or interrupted as bugs spoke to her.

“There you are,” she said, reaching him. She pressed a coin purse into his hand and he clutched it uncertainly.

“It’s for you,” she said. “To spend.”

“Th- thank you.” He was still trying to process how he felt—about _everything_ , really—when she nodded and walked off.

He took a steadying breath, then set about wandering the streets. Hollow and Hornet both were surrounded by bugs no matter when he saw them, though the crowd kept a small distance between themselves and the Vessel. Snacks would be offered and they would eat them with gusto.

Vendors were sectioned to different blocks, and game booths filled two streets and dotted the end of others. The music would change as he walked, groups of bugs playing different tunes but just far enough from each other that the overlap was minimal. A sort of warmth filled the City and took the edge off his emotions.

Baskets of flower petals sat in the open, some bugs taking them to simple throw about while others strung together crowns. Hollow had at least five hanging from their horns, Ghost wearing one far too large for them as a necklace, and Hornet had a number hanging from her arm.

He had purchased a dumpling shaped like Hollow’s mask—as most food items were, it seemed—and was watching a group of bugs play a balloon popping game when Lurien appeared through the crowd.

“Hi!” the centipede chirped. “Sorry, this is the _busiest_ time for the Spire. Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” he said. 

“Great!” Lurien said. “I can show you my favorite vendors! The dumplings are a good start, and we have a whole week for everything.”

* * *

Being a god came with many benefits. Immortality. Powerful magic. Immense physical strength.

A tolerance to alcohol was not one of them. After a handful of hours the casks of wine and beer were broken out, and barely two cups in he was giggly, stumbling into Lurien for support.

Not that Lurien was much help, his companion equally giggly and swaying to an internal rhythm. They caterwauled happily to songs Lurien knew and Gwyn guessed notes to, the bugs around them much the same. It was Herrah who finally extracted them from the festival for the night and brought them to the palace, where they snuggled into one another in Gwyn’s bed and promptly passed out.

The week passed with Lurien showing him his favorite artists and chefs, the two enjoying pastries and fried foods and spending perhaps a little too much geo on jewelry and clothing they promptly gifted to one another. He made Lurien a white and blue flower crown and the centipede presented him a pure white one. He easily beat a large beetle in an arm wrestle and just as easily lost to a small aphid in a drinking contest. It was an amount of carefree fun he had never really allowed himself, and he could not help but indulge in it.

Finally the festival concluded, Gwyn placing his flower crown on the nightstand and curling up in bed. Lurien had returned to the Spire to oversee wrap up, but he clung to a stag plushie Lurien had won him in a game of ring-toss and could only feel bliss.

* * *

He did not do much the next day, wolfing down the meals servants brought before going back to sleep. It was the day after that he followed Monomon and the four guards Hornet assigned them out of the City and towards the Abyss.

The door was closed again, his Seal present but dimmer. He did not need his own magic to dismiss his previous work and the door slid open. The contentment that had settled in him was eaten away by unease as they approached the Abyss’ precipice.

“I’ll carry you down,” a sentry said. He nodded, taking their lantern; Ophir had insisted his magic was still healing, and so he could not summon the wings he usually used. He clung to the guard and hopefully did not give away how nervous he was. Monomon drifted down ahead of him.

They landed and the sentry set him down. Something crunched beneath his feet. He took a steadying breath and lowered the lantern.

Broken, white masks carpeted the floor. Void wafted from them, a single Shade forming nearby; they reached tiny hands towards him and he froze, a scream caught in his throat. Then they recoiled as though burned. His Light, he realized. Dimmed, but present, the eternal enemy of the Void. His heart ached at the realization he was surrounded the corpses of thousands of his children and they, so seeped in Void, could not bear him even if they wanted to.

“Monomon,” he croaked.

“Don’t look,” she advised. How? he wondered. Their masks crunched under every footstep, their Shades lingered a distance from their group. Nausea hit him but he swallowed it back. “There.”

She gestured to the expanse of Void beyond the Lighthouse, the building’s light missing. For the best, he supposed, if his children craved the dark. What he wanted—to be with them, to heal them—was not what they wanted. It would not fix things. Where would they even go? He was still just selfish, wanting to soothe himself, unable to stop his tears at how foolish he still cursedly was.

“Focus on Hollow,” Monomon murmured, the sentries politely ignoring him. He wiped his face and nodded. She was right; they had to collect some Void so they could heal Hollow. He took a bottle from their supplies and uncorked it, approaching the still sea.

Tendrils exploded from the waters, wrapping around him and pulling him off his feet. He screamed, dropping the bottle and lantern.

“Gwyn!” Monomon cried.

He dug his fingers into the dirt, slowing himself for the briefest of moments before the Void yanked him free. He was pulled under the sea of Void, what felt like more and more claws digging into him. Void ran down his throat and he did not need to breathe but he could not _breathe_ and he thrashed against a sea that continued to drown him.

_No cost too great._

His voice, an age ago, distorted by a _presence_ that was both many and none and all. He felt a primordial fear of something ancient and powerful and too aware even when some part of him felt it waited to grow _more_. Worse, worse its weight was mocking. 

_No mind to think._

Darkness seeped into him. Not sleep or pain but one that threatened to consume his Light, what made him _him_ and god and Wyrm. The enemy they briefly shared was gone. He was the enemy now, as he’d always been.

He’d been so certain he could tame the Void. Him, a single, _stupid_ spark of Light in the infinity that threatened to crush him.

_No will to break._

A knowledge washed over him, of thousands of fragments of Void, each their consciousness, broken and reformed and then cast aside. That many were healed, his Light a distant nightmare; that many were not, still fragile and mending under the Void’s care. 

I am the god, a voice of voices hissed. That will consume all others. 

He was going to die. Truly, finally die, and a terror he’d never known before washed over him.

No, the voice said. You are going to break.

He- he-

_No voice to cry suffering._

Nothingness filled him and he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TPK is one of my favorites. Yes, I will continue to punch him in his stupid face.


	21. A Still Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the Void said softly. But no cost is too great, and this, Wyrm, is my cost.

Gwyn woke up, or at least he thought he did. Darkness surrounded him, the digging of claws replaced with nothingness. He tried to move but his limbs would not respond, or maybe they were and he could not tell. He reached for his magic and it was gone, save for a small flame of divinity that threatened to go out entirely.

The Void did not speak again but was a constant presence weighing on his mind. He could not breathe and it did not hurt, but he would try and there would be nothing and it would send a fresh wave of panic through him.

He waited for something to happen. For the claws to return, for the Void to speak, the weight on his mind to increase. Nothing happened, and he screamed but no sound came out.

Was time passing? It must be, but everything was still. Had the… Monomon… okay… had…?

It was becoming harder to hold a thought. His awareness of the presence was fading, but so was his awareness of everything else. There was only nothing, though, what was he… he… 

Ssh, the Void said. Nothing reached out and smothered his flame, leaving the dullest of embers and causing an incomprehensible _agony_ to course through him. He screamed and it offered no sound or relief. Void seeped into the embers and he mutely sobbed for death. 

Ah, the Void said softly. But no cost is too great, and this, Wyrm, is my cost. My children— _our_ children—suffered by your hand. You will suffer by mine.

He… he…

You think too much, the Void hummed.

Everything went blank.

* * *

Monomon stared at the still sea. 

“I…” the sentry murmured after an hour. “I think he’s gone.”

Mechanically, she picked up the bottle and sank onto the shoreline, filling it. It did not attack her. For too long, she knew, she then sat there, staring at the nothingness.

They’d been down here a hundred times. Worked alongside its shore without so much as a ripple. Had it waited, all this time, for them to return? She didn’t know. 

“Teacher,” a sentry finally said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She knew it’d been hours upon hours, that it was becoming difficult to breathe, and she hiccuped a sob. “I’m sorry. We have to go.”

A wave of Void creeped up and they recoiled. It receded, leaving an unmoving Gwyn.

No. _No._ “Please,” she croaked, gently scooping him up. He was frigid, his gray shell streaked black. Void leaked from cracks and joints and weeped from his eyes, the streams evaporating into rising clouds. “ _Please._ Gwyn.”

He took a shuddering breath. 

“Oh, thank the Wyrm,” Monomon croaked. “Gwyn?”

He opened his eyes, terribly blank but he seemed to be looking at her. “Are you okay? I mean. Gods, no, you’re not. What did it _do_ to you?”

He did not respond, merely staring at her. 

“Gwyn?”

He tilted his head a bit. She gently placed him on his feet and he remained standing, trembling slightly, waiting. 

She drifted back. “Come here,” she croaked. He walked over to her and resumed staring.

She scooped him up again. He did not react, but this did not stop her from clutching him close. How, she wanted to cry, did one fix a god?

“We’re leaving,” she said. The sentries quietly followed her and the sea did not stop them. 

Her ascent was slow, but she refused to hand Gwyn to a sentry. Partway up he began thrashing, screaming mutely, and she could only stop and wait for it to pass. After a few minutes it did, but it did not seem to grant Gwyn any more awareness; he simply slumped and was unmoving again.

* * *

The sentries encircled them, shielding Gwyn from most bugs. One broke off when they reached the palace, fluttering ahead to the throne room. 

They returned swiftly. “Bring him to his room,” they said. “Her Majesty will join you shortly.”

Ophir caught up to them on the third floor, following her up and into the room. She gently placed him in bed and he began thrashing again. Hornet appeared a minute later, as Monomon was desperately trying to soothe him and Ophir was staring.

“What. Happened?” Hornet asked tersely. Ghost darted into the room, Hollow lingering in the door frame.

Monomon swallowed thickly. “Th- the Void,” she croaked, rubbing her eyes. “It- it _pulled_ him under and- and-”

She began drifting in circles. Finally, Gwyn stopped thrashing, his eyes shutting and his breathing uneven. “I _broke_ a _god_.”

“In your defense,” Hornet said. “He started it.”

“He’s _empty_!”

Ghost put their hands on their hips. “Well it’s fine for you!” Monomon wailed. “Not him!”

Hollow finally stepped into the room, nuzzling Gwyn’s unconscious form and bellowing lowly.

She stopped her pacing, whirling towards Hollow. “You,” she snapped. The Vessel took a step back and she drifted out of the room, wrapping a tendril around their arm. They followed, Hornet right behind them.

She brought them to her room, letting go of their arm to pull the bottle of Void and dump it into the globe.

“Get in the chamber,” she hissed to Hollow. The Vessel took a step back, whimpering, and guilt clenched her heart. It wasn’t their fault. They hadn’t asked them to do this. “Now!”

“Stop it,” Hornet snapped, stepping forward to place herself between Monomon and Hollow. At the same time there was an echoing crack, and they both turned to see Hollow’s mask split entirely in two. It dropped to the ground and their Shade rose from it.

“Hollow,” Hornet said softly. They drifted into the chamber, pooling into a puddle of Light-streaked Void at its bottom. Monomon shut the hatch.

“It’s for their own good,” Monomon managed.

“Now they’re going to think this is their fault too!” Hornet yelled. 

“I will not have this all be for nothing!” Monomon yelled back. 

* * *

Hornet’s next words were cut off by Ghost taking her hand. She had not heard them enter. “We will discuss this later,” she said.

She turned to leave, Monomon drifting after her. She spun back round. “You will stay here,” she snapped. “And make sure Hollow heals properly.”

“But-”

“That’s an order.” And Monomon drifted back, sinking slightly. Hornet knew she was being unfair, but she didn’t… she didn’t know what to _do_. She swallowed thickly and returned to Gwyn’s room.

He seemed to be sleeping, chest barely rising and falling. Void would pool on the bed and then dissipate. Ophir had moved the desk chair by the bed so that he could sit by him, but the healer was only staring.

“Sorry,” Ophir finally croaked. “I just. This is.”

“I don’t expect you to know what to do,” Hornet assured, even though her heart screamed at him to _fix this_.

Ophir bowed his head. After a long minute he looked back up. “I will… watch him. I do not know if he is… is stable, but perhaps something will reveal itself.”

It was barely more than nothing, but she had no ideas to offer. “I’ll…” What? The sentries that had traveled with them were clearly shaken. Ophir was shaken. _She_ was shaken. “Send for Lurien. He will assist you.”

It wasn’t any better, she knew, but he would want to know anyway. Help. Ophir nodded and she left, Ghost following.

“Court is canceled tomorrow,” Hornet said, gripping the door frame to her room. Ghost ran in ahead of her. “Summon Lurien in the morning. Tell my mother I will speak to her then as well. I… I need time to think."

The guard at the top of the stairwell nodded. 

“You all have leave,” she told the lingering sentries. “I apologize for any harm that has befallen you. The healer's wing is open to you.”

“Your Majesty-”

“Go.” They paused, then fluttered down the stairs.

She shut the door, breathing deeply. Ghost looked up from where they had curled up in Hollow’s nest, it far too large for their small frame. 

“Oh, Ghost,” she sighed, gently picking them up. They cuddled against her, emitting a soft whimper. “It’ll be okay.”

She set them on the bed and they extended a hand. She wrapped her pinkie around theirs. “Promise.”

They nodded slightly before slumping against a pillow, and she crawled under the blankets and pulled them close. As her sibling’s breathing slowly evened out in sleep, she hoped she would not be proved a liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory The Sound of Silence reference here.


	22. Hornet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running a kingdom is stressful enough without everyone having emotions.

Hornet managed very little sleep, and also very little thinking before morning came. Lurien was here, a guard called. She’d be just a minute, she replied, finally forcing herself out of bed. Ghost woke long enough to sleepily climb on her shoulder.

She opened the door. Lurien stood, hands clasping and unclasping, next to a servant balancing a tray of food. Her stomach then reminded her with a yawn she had not eaten dinner the night before.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the tray and nodding for Lurien to enter. Ghost halfheartedly reached for a biscuit and she handed it to them before setting the tray on the desk.

“You canceled Court,” Lurien said. She nodded, reaching under her mask to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Perhaps hastily,” she said. “I am… at a lost. Yesterday Monomon and Gwyn went to the Abyss-”

“Are they okay?” Lurien asked. “Is something wrong with Hollow?”

She counted to five to suppress her annoyance at being interrupted. “Monomon and Hollow are fine. Gwyn, however… the Void did _something_. He is alive but not responsive.” 

Or rather, she hoped that was still the case. She trusted Ophir would inform her otherwise. “Ophir is with him, and I was hoping you could help him figure out a way to- okay, bye.”

Lurien bolted from the room and down the hall. She sighed, allowing herself to pick at her breakfast before wrapping a couple biscuits in a napkin for Ghost (who was, oddly, still working on their first) and following. A strange knot had settled in her chest and seemed to sap her energy further.

Ophir was rubbing his face, still hunched over on the chair. Lurien had one of Gwyn’s hands gingerly in his own. 

“Your Majesty,” Ophir mumbled. Lurien glanced up, chirping an apology before looking back to Gwyn. The ant seemed much the same.

“Did you find anything out?” she asked.

Ophir sighed. “I’m not sure. I am quite certain he is _in_ there, which is why he sometimes thrashes, but I do not know how to bring him back out. The Vessels have proved Void cannot regenerate without the presence of the Abyss; perhaps he will expunge it from himself in time. The Vessels have also proved capable of interacting with Void sources, which leads me to believe… this,” he gestured vaguely at Gwyn. “Could be siphoned by them. I do not know if it would hurt them, though, and regardless of it being removed or fading there will be a lasting impact on Gwyn. The extent of which I have no idea.”

Lurien turned towards them and Hornet immediately stiffened. “Monomon already yelled at Hollow. Don’t you dare.”

“I wasn’t going to yell,” the centipede mumbled. He lifted his mask and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Hornet said. Now she’d been snappy at _two_ of her closest advisers when they were already upset. She was doing! Great! “I just-”

“It’s fine,” Lurien said. He drew a shaky breath. “Ghost-”

Ghost crammed the rest of their biscuit into their mouth, took the napkin from her, and ran out of the room. Lurien’s shoulders slumped.

“They… I’ll get them,” Hornet assured before turning to follow them.

Ghost was standing at Monomon’s door. She knocked, got no response, then carefully opened it. Ghost squeezed in.

The horrible—or at least, messy—scene she half expected was absent. Monomon dozed in her hammock, and Ghost was clambering onto the desk. They tapped the container’s glass and after a few moments, white eyes peered back at them.

Ghost chirped in delight and opened the hatch. “Ghost!” she snapped, picking the Vessel up and shutting it. “Don’t do that!” 

“Hhhm?” Monomon’s sleepy voice said. She turned, still clutching a wiggling Ghost, as the Teacher drifted down. “Ooh. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she echoed. “M- Monomon. About yesterday. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I-”

“Hhm,” Monomon chimed. “It was rather rude of you. But no worries, dear Hornet. I understand. What is Ghost here up to?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “Other than they opened the container.”

“Really? How interesting. Put them down, let’s see what they do.”

“But Hollow-”

“They have to choose to leave it. And unlike dear Ghost here, they are _much_ better behaved.”

Hornet reluctantly placed Ghost back on the desk. They opened the hatch again and dumped the biscuits into it.

“Interesting,” Monomon hummed. Hornet pulled at her face.

Ghost shut it and turned towards them, arms held up in victory.

Hollow’s Shade shifted a bit before settling again, nothing else seeming to happen. A thread of Light was gathered in the appropriate attachment. “Interesting,” Monomon said again. “That’s certainly a larger amount than they have been expelling. It will take some time yet, given how damaged Hollow is, but perhaps-”

Monomon stared at the Light. She then hurried to a crate, pulling out odds and ends that just looked like junk to Hornet, but she assumed were helpful in some way. “Monomon,” she prompted.

“Oh! Yes! Sorry! I’ve had an _idea_. I can’t believe it took me this long, I am but a simple fool! This,” she drifted back over to the container. “Adds Void and removes Light. Why not make one that does the _reverse_?”

Hornet glanced at the small attachment. “That… surely would not be enough.”

Monomon deflated. “Probably not. Ooh… perhaps he could be fed the Light-”

“What if it’s infected?”

“Nonsense! I have studied Hollow’s wounds extensively; this is all benign Light, or else Hollow would still be aggressive. Surely this can’t hurt to try.”

Hornet supposed not, given Gwyn’s current state. “Ophir has some ideas too, perhaps-”

Monomon chimed in delight and drifted out of the room. Hornet rolled her eyes and counted to five before following. Again. Ghost sat on the desk and so she left the door ajar. 

Herrah was waiting down the hall, and she felt a stab of guilt. Herrah had always been her most stalwart supporter, in part, she felt, to make up for the time together they had lost. “Mother. I’m sorry, I should have spoken to you sooner, but I really don’t know what’s going on or what is going to work or… or…” 

“It’s okay,” Herrah assured. “Ophir told me. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Herrah hummed. “You seem tired. Perhaps you should rest, while Monomon and Ophir do… whatever it is they are doing. They immediately started using words I do not understand.”

Hornet managed a small laugh. She noticed Quirrel appear at the top of the stairs, carrying a tray of food. She pointed at Gwyn's door, the pillbug entering the room. “Yeah. I…”

She was tired, and her absence today only ensured more bugs needing it tomorrow. There was not much she herself could do to help Gwyn right now. “Yeah,” she repeated. “I think I’ll rest.”

“Think?”

She rolled her eyes, her mask hiding the motion. “I will rest, Mother.”

“Good,” Herrah chirped. “I’ll make sure Monomon doesn’t destroy half the palace.”

“That is appreciated. Thank you.”

Herrah kissed the top of her mask as she passed, and she briefly leaned into her shell before returning to her room. Perhaps she should head downstairs and open Court; the day was young. She was tired. She had a duty to her people. Her people would not collapse in on themselves over one day.

She climbed into bed, intent on at least making a mental list of things to do tomorrow. She did not make it beyond two items before falling asleep.


	23. A Plan (And a Half)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has ideas, and all Hornet desires at this point is coffee.

The next day found Monomon and Ophir sketching design after design on the desk. Hornet’s original thought felt silly now, and Lurien returned to the Spire with the promise he would be kept updated. Quirrel remained to assist the two.

Gwyn woke but simply stared at them, his breathing an uneven backdrop to their work. He finally reacted to the water Ophir offered him, draining it in seconds and then pressing the empty mug against him, clearly demanding more. He emptied it four times before seeming sate.

He also reacted to Herrah taking his hand, emitting a gurgled coo and pressing against her. “You emotionally constipated man,” she said. Hornet could hear the eye roll in her voice. Another coo. She curled up around him and he leaned closer.

“An emotional anchor is probably good,” Ophir called.

“And he’s much less likely to hurt you than Lurien.”

“ _Monomon._ ”

“I am merely saying Lurien is both physically and emotionally soft, whereas Herrah is not.”

“I am a saint,” Herrah agreed. Monomon snorted. Hornet left them continuing their gentle bickering.

It was many hours later that Hornet rubbed her temples as the throne room cleared out. “Coffee,” she muttered, a nearby servant running off. 

Ghost refused to leave Hollow’s side, which did reduce the overall chaos around the palace. She had sent a request to the Maskmaker, approved Monomon’s resource request, and she’d caught up with general concerns requiring her attention. 

She had several rolls of parchment from her very irritated bank advisers despite having approved Monomon’s request barely four hours ago, because, they reminded her, they’d already spent _two million geo_ on this Gwyn character and what was she doing _approving another eight thousand_ for Monomon’s experiments related to him when they’d _just_ had the Festival of Wakening. She would have to find the papers they’d signed agreeing to the original two million because it had been, by extension, for Hollow. And Hollow was the priceless, irreplaceable heart of the kingdom.

It was because of the Festival, she reminded herself, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee someone handed her. They were always extra grumpy after the Festival.

Gwyn’s fits became more numerous over the week, Herrah often having to stop him from rolling off the bed. Ophir began to doubt if they were a good sign anymore, as he seemed even less responsive after them. Monomon argued he was simply worn out. It was hard to judge, as when he was awake he was not lucid and did not speak. 

She was sitting with Ghost and Hollow, the former’s bowl of sticky buns being consumed with gusto while her own lunch remained untouched, when Lurien returned. “I was wondering where you were,” he said. “How are they doing?”

“Monomon says it’s going well,” Hornet replied. “And that it shouldn’t take more than another week. Their new mask should be here by then.”

“That’s good,” Lurien said, clasping and unclasping his hands. Ghost dropped a sticky bun into the container. “Er.”

“Apparently it doesn’t hurt anything. You’re fidgeting. What is it?”

“Ah. I uh. I’ve been doing research,” he hummed, pulling a bit of parchment from his cloak. “Mostly from the journal Gwyn gave me. If I’ve translated it correctly—or at least passably—a recount suggests it is possible for other gods to gift a part of their divinity. A god of storms did this to heal another. I think. My thought was… I mean I know she didn’t return with him… but if she’s _considering_ things, maybe the White Lady will help him.”

“Only Ghost knows where she is,” Hornet said wearily, finally picking at her lunch. She was not eating enough, she knew. “And I can’t leave the palace for that long.”

“Then I’ll go,” Lurien said. He pushed his mask up for maximum emotional presence. “My duties can be covered by others in my absence. What they extract from Hollow may not be enough—it may not work at all. Please, Hornet.”

She hesitated. She wanted to say it was unlikely to be worth it, that if she had not returned with Gwyn himself, she was unlikely to do so now. That she may not even be there anymore. Lurien stared at her with big, big eyes. “Fine. Settle matters at the Spire and take a guard.”

“I don’t need… no, no, you’re right. Thank you.”

* * *

Lurien left. “You can have it,” Hornet muttered, pushing her lunch towards Ghost before standing and heading to Gwyn’s room.

Gwyn slept, clinging to Herrah’s shell. “Don’t ever let him say I never do anything for him,” Herrah muttered, though her tone didn’t have any bite to it.

Monomon looked up from a series of tubes she and Ophir were stringing together, various glass baubles attaches to them.

“Hello!” she said. “We’ve had to change our design quite a bit. As far as I know, Gwyn is _not_ a blob of Light given form. Though the more I think about it, the more this is a possibility.”

“Okay,” Hornet said.

“Regardless, I do not know and he is in no condition to help. So our idea is Gwyn himself will be the container, and these,” she wiggled some of the tubes. “Can be stuck under his shell. We may have to restrain him. It would not be good if he yanks them out during a fit, which this process is vverrryyy likely to cause.”

“If our theory is correct,” Ophir called from the desk. “A Vessel can help ensure the Void is actually pulled out. Given how little Light we’ll have to work with, this will hopefully prevent the Void from just eating it.”

Hornet shared Lurien’s idea.

“Interesting,” Monomon hummed. “That would certainly be _ideal_. I do think we’ll still need to expel the Void as much as possible. Ghost won’t even leave Hollow long enough to test our theory! Endearing. A bit annoying. When is Lurien leaving?”

“When the Spire is tended to.”

“So in like three days.”

“I refrain from commenting.”

“You are right. This is for Gwyn so… two days.” 

Gwyn sneezed, expelling a glob of Void. Herrah looked to the ceiling for strength. 

* * *

Lurien did indeed leave two days later. He quickly learned that the Queen’s Garden was a nightmare. There were thorns everywhere, he kept thinking he’d find somewhere new only to for it to be the same statue, and the guard he’d brought was just as confused. It was, at least, quiet; they only saw a shy mosskin or two.

After what felt like days—”It’s been three hours,” the guard informed him—they found a metal grate. It slid open, and peering inside revealed an empty, crumbling building. 

They hesitated at the pathway of graves, the guard taking the lead, hand on his nail. He very nearly walked off the sudden drop off, but it did not seem particularly far down or dangerous. They hopped down.

Eventually they ran into a mossy curtain, pushing it aside to find a dozing Dryya. The Knight started awake, whipping her nail out and standing in the same motion. “Hnn,” she said.

Lurien stared.

She stared.

“I didn’t know you knew how to travel,” she said. The guard snorted. “What brings you here?”

“I need to speak to the White Lady,” he said. “Is she here?”

“No,” she said, as said Lady fluttered down from a massive tree behind her. 

“Dryya.”

She sighed, sheathing her nail and stepping aside. “I tried,” she called. 

The White Lady looked as radiant as ever, wings fluttering delicately. She looked at them with eyes that offered warmth but also very little else as they approached. “Lurien.”

“M- my Lady,” he said. He had forgotten how _overwhelming_ she was, brilliant and alight with power. He’d forgotten Gwyn had once been like this, how justified his distance had always seemed because of it. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she hummed. “I was, admittedly, expecting Gwyn at some point, not you. I suppose you could take a message.”

“Ah,” he said awkwardly. “Actually. Gwyn is… injured. He traveled to the Abyss-”

“ _Why_? It was always foolish of him to go there. Each time he did I’d tell him, Gwyn, one day the Void is going to get sick of your nonsense.”

“It did,” he said.

A pause, the White Lady then muttering, “Oh.” She looked up at the vines and flowers serving as a ceiling. “Injured how?”

“We aren’t sure. The Void pulled him under, and when it returned him it was _leaking_ from him, and he’s… I don’t know. He’s _almost_ like Hollow was, really, he listens but doesn’t really react, except sometimes he does and it’s hurting him and I…”

He took a steadying breath. “We’re trying to help him, but I don’t know if it will work. If it will be enough. I read that gods can gift a piece of their divinity, and I know it is a lot to ask, but I was wondering if… if this is true, if you could help him.”

The White Lady’s quiet stretched into many minutes as she continued to stare at the ceiling.

“You indeed ask a lot,” she finally said. “If I do so, my strength will never be what it once was. His most certainly never will be.”

His heart sank. “But he… you…”

“That was an age ago,” she said, looking at him. “And when he returned to me, after so long gone, he was not the same. I knew then that he will _never_ again be the Wyrm I once knew. I told him I would consider the plight of his daughter. It felt, despite everything, the least I could do.”

“And what have you decided?” Lurien ventured.

“I will leave the Gardens,” she said. “But I will not reside in Hallownest. I decided this a bit ago… I have hesitated because I do not wish to just leave, but I do not know how to tell him. I know this is the best course for me, but I love him, and he loves me. There is no way this will not break his heart.”

It _would_. And, perhaps selfishly, he knew this would affect _their_ relationship. Gwyn loved them both, but they offered him entirely different things.

“I will help him,” she said, breaking his thoughts. “I do not know if it will be enough, but I cannot leave him in such a state. Then I will take my leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H e l l o thank you as always for reading!
> 
> Raja made 1.37m in profit after taking into account the cost of hunting both Gwyn and Lucius.


	24. The Eclipse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn is a sad bean.

A Light not his own seared awareness into him, coaxing the embers of his own back to the smallest flame. The nothingness lingered, but finally he could grasp at thoughts again, could feel a desire to pull himself free of the Void clinging to him. It was like breathing for the first time in many an age.

“My sweet Wyrm,” a soft voice said. A hand cupped his cheek and he felt an ache of longing. “Please. Come back to me.”

His vision was foggy, slowly focusing on the White Lady’s face. Her thumb brushed over his bad eye, with a spark of heat and spot of green, vision began to return to it. With immense difficulty he put a hand to hers and murmured, “Hi.”

Then she stepped back, pulling her hand away despite his tightened grip. “I am sorry,” she said. “I am glad I could help you. Truly. But I must go now.”

Go? But she just got here. Had she? He didn’t know. “Why?” he croaked.

The only other bugs in the room were Lurien and Ophir, both who were focusing intently on a scrap of parchment.

“I… the weight of Hallownest…” she sighed softly. “Everything before and during and after. I need rest away from it, to find somewhere to start anew.”

She had been with him through most everything: establishing the first Court, the return of the Radiance and the Infection, the sleepless months planning, the failures, assuring each other what they were doing would be worth the cost. 

You left, he told himself. But she’d agreed it a good idea. That she would wait. That was a long time ago. She was allowed to change her mind. She was. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

She gently kissed the top of his head. “Please,” he whispered, hating how weak his voice was and the desperation in his tone.

“I love you,” she assured. 

“And I you.”

She pressed something into his hand, kissed him again, then left. He stood to follow her and immediately his legs gave out, Ophir barely catching him and placing him back in the bed. The room grew blurry.

He recognizes words were being spoken but he did not process them. What was the _point_? His Lady had left him. What was to stop anyone else from doing the same? He burst into tears.

* * *

He cried until he could not, then managed to some more. Finally he was just tired, wearily rubbing his eyes and looking at what she had given him. Void spotted it and he rubbed it clean with the meager fury he could manage.

It was half of a white charm and with shaking fingers he pulled the half he’d had tucked under a part of his shell out. Struggled to keep his hands steady, Lurien’s gently holding the back of his and helping him put the two together.

They’d made this together. He did not know what was meant by her returning it. “I’ll put it on the nightstand, okay?” Lurien asked softly. He nodded, the centipede taking it and doing so.

“Wwweelll,” Monomon chimed, drifting beside Ophir and Quirrel. “There is definitely still Void present, so we’ll continue with our plan too. I am so glad you are awake, Gwyn. I thought…”

She drifted down a bit, then recovered. “It does not matter! You are here now, thank the… non-specific higher being.”

He curled up and pulled the blankets over him. He just wanted to cry some more. He had no more tears, so his chest just burned. Void pooled beneath him, albeit slowly, and he wanted to tear it to pieces. 

“Gwyn-” Lurien said.

“Aw, give him a bit,” Quirrel interrupted. “I’m going to round up some sweets.”

A pause, and then, “Why?” Ophir asked.

“That’s how _I_ handle all my breakups.” 

“This is a bit bigger than a regular breakup.”

“Which is why I’m going to get a lot of them. Be right back.”

The door opened and closed. Ophir pulled the blanket down and gently sat him up. “Hollow should be all healed tomorrow,” he said. Hollow. Hollow! Thank Terra something good had actually come from all this. “Then we can work on getting rid of this rest of this Void. How do you feel? Physically.”

He shrugged halfheartedly. “Tired,” he mumbled.

Void oozed from the segments of his shell, not cold or hot but simply nothing. He shuddered. Lurien squeezed his hand and he weakly returned it.

She was gone. She’d left him a great gift, he knew, but still she was gone. His side was not enough. He’d been stupid to ever think it was.

Quirrel returned, placing a massive basket of sweets on the bed. 

“Quirrel,” Ophir said.

“Well, you’ve been saying he needs to eat more, and vegetables do not soothe the heart.”

“I would,” Gwyn croaked. “Like to be left alone.”

“… Alright,” Lurien murmured. His heart only hurt more. He was not trying to push Lurien away. He just needed to weep in peace. 

“We’ll check in on you later,” Monomon said. He nodded, his grip on the sheets tightening as they all left.

He found fresh tears and pulled a tub of pudding and a spoon from the basket. 

* * *

At some point he fell asleep, clutching a half-eaten sticky bun. He awoke because he felt something staring at him.

He turned and saw Hollow, looking the same save for an undamaged mask and possessing both arms. They chirruped at him. Ghost clambered onto the bed before holding both arms up in victory.

Hornet looked at the ceiling for strength as Lurien scooped up the admitted mess he’d made with the food into the basket, taking the half eaten sticky bun and tossing it in as well.

“I am glad you are doing better,” Hornet then said. “I heard about… I am sorry.”

She stepped back as Ophir and Monomon approached with what looked like tubes floating thanks to tiny air sacs. He eyed it warily.

“This is the plan!” Monomon chirped happily, which was a cause of concern for anything who knew Monomon. They stuck the end of one, narrowed at the tip, under a joint in his arm. A second similar one was stuck in his other arm. Neither of them pierced the flesh, which was… probably a relief. “It is mostly theory.”

Ophir attached a globe of Light to one end. Ghost squatted and stared intently at him.

Slowly, Void creeped back into him—which was _disgusting_ and made him flinch—then down the tube towards an empty globe. Light funneled into his shell and started to dissipate; he focused on it and _willed_ it into his being. It was not much, the faintest Light that at least helped brush away the lingering remnants of Void.

After an hour the rest of the Void was extracted. “How do you feel?” Monomon asked.

He considered. He was exhausted. His flame burned but it was feeble, and he found only the faintest whisper of magic in him. He wanted to cry all over again. “Like garbage.”

“That’s an improvement,” she hummed. She pressed a button on the now empty globe and the tubes curled around it. Ophir carefully removed the tube on the filled Void one.

“… Want a snack?” Ophir asked Ghost, holding up the globe. Ghost snatched it out of his hand and gulped it down, glass and all. 

“AaaAAAAA,” was a summary of the noise Hornet made. Ghost gave her a thumbs up and she pulled at her face. Hollow awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“Our theory was _mostly_ correct!” Monomon said happily. “I did not realize you would have to be conscious for it. I am glad you were!”

“We,” Ophir said, before Monomon could elaborate too much more. “Will leave you to rest. I’ll send some food up. Try to eat it. I’ll check up on you tomorrow.”

Gwyn nodded. Only Lurien remained, helping him get through a couple bites of the brought up soup before he threw it up.

“It’s alright,” Lurien murmured, wiping his mouth with a cloth. He’d been fine yesterday. Or what had probably been yesterday. He wanted to cry. “Get some sleep.”

* * *

He’d curled up, a hand in Lurien’s as the centipede sat by the bed, and after a bit fallen asleep. At first exhaustion won out, and his sleep was dreamless.

Then it was not, an eldritch voice mixed with his own whispering words he could not understand. Go away, he tried to say. A dark weightlessness washed over him, then abruptly yanked him down.

He awoke with a start. Sweat dampened the sheets and pillow and a terror still beat through him.

“—sshh. Ssh. It’s okay. Gwyn, you're safe. It’s okay.” Lurien’s voice, sleepy in the dark. Lurien squeezed his hand. 

In the dark. That wasn’t- he could see in the dark. It was all grayscale, sure, but visible. It was a part of his magic, he-

He threw up again, more of a dry heave that devolved into heavy breathing. “Gwyn,” Lurien said. Fumbling as the centipede pulled the cover off a lumafly lamp, then returned to squeeze his hands again. “Gwyn. What’s wrong?”

Everything? Everything was wrong. Tears stung his eyes and he could not manage words, Lurien finally pulling him into a hug. He returned it, clinging. If he didn’t let go maybe Lurien wouldn’t leave, maybe he could have _something_. 

“You need rest,” Lurien murmured after a bit. He nodded, burying his face into his shoulder. He smelled of old books and rain. He could rest, he supposed, relaxing slightly. Just for a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comfort part. Of that angst and hurt/comfort tag. Is somewhere. Somewhere in this fic.


	25. Rumor Has It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They know.

At some point he fell asleep, nightmares creeping back and causing him to wake feeling all the more exhausted. Lurien blearily woke in his chair and squeezed his hand.

He felt frail and clammy, only amplified when Ophir brought a tray of food. Simply looking at it made him queasy.

“This food is for your _physical_ health,” Ophir said, holding up a spoonful of stew. He managed to keep down the handful of bites he ate. “It’s a start.”

The healer peered into his eye, prodded his shell, turned his hand about, all the while muttering to himself. Shut his eyes and held his arm for a long moment. After a few minutes he said, “We’ll just have to see how well your constitution recovers. To say you’ve strained it would be an understatement. You should probably do a bit of walking around, just take it easy.”

He wanted to sleep. He did not want more nightmares. “We can visit the market,” Lurien suggested, and he gave a tiny nod.

“… I really hate to give you bad news. It seems poorly timed,” Ophir said.

“It probably always will be,” he croaked.

“Oof. Alright, fair enough. Your magic channels are… ah… decimated. Do you passively gain Soul?”

“When I’m not this tired.”

“Okay. You may… not anymore. Which is sort of a good thing, as it would probably hurt immensely to store any. I also do not detect any magic within you. I mean, there’s your… spark? But none of the magic I sensed originally. I honestly don’t know what to do, and I _wish_ I did this seems to be part of that long term effect I was worried about, I-”

“Ophir,” Lurien said.

He took a steadying breath. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

“Nope,” Gwyn assured. He’d known. He wouldn’t have lost his truesight otherwise. Was he mortal now? No. He felt he would know that too in some way. He’d _always_ been a spellcaster—it’d been what made him so confident even when his form became so small. It would have made him useful now. He wanted to cry all over again. 

“Hey,” Lurien said softly. 

“I’m losing everything,” he gulped.

“No. Gwyn, listen. You’re not. Everyone wants to see you get better. We’ll take care of you.”

He was supposed to take care of _them_. He buried his face into Lurien’s shoulder and managed to not cry.

“Let’s go see the market,” Lurien said. “You’ve been in here a while.”

“Okay,” he mumbled. Ophir told Lurien to make sure he eats something before leaving.

He had to lean on Lurien for support, his limbs shaky. His shell was spotted with remnants of Void and he overall felt… gross. “Actually,” he said. “Can I take a bath first?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. That’s probably a good idea.”

Lurien said he’d stay just outside the door in case he needed help. Gwyn really, really hoped he could managed this on his own. 

He could, it turned out, and he sank gratefully into the water. He scrubbed the remaining Void off with perhaps too much force, and ended up sobbing into his washcloth, but eventually felt a bit more put together. 

“Better?” Lurien chirped. He nodded, pulling on his cloak and mask and following the centipede outside.

The market was about a fifteen minute walk from the palace, proper shops lining a massive courtyard dotted by carts and stands. Sentries perched on rooftops, overlooking the many bugs shopping about. Grublings ran through the crowd clutching sweets.

His appetite eventually returned and he scarfed down some skewered tiktik. As they wandered—just when he thought they were at its end, Lurien led them on further—he spotted a familiar, large mantis behind a stall. They made their way over.

“Hi!” Thistle said cheerfully. “Can I interest you in a mantis claw? Made with zero real mantis claws! That would be barbaric.”

He held up an aptly-named piece of stone and chitin, many similar ones hanging around him. At their quiet, he said, “It really is not made from mantis claws.”

“I did not expect to see you here,” Gwyn admitted.

“The Mantis Village prides itself on being self-sufficient, and trading with outsiders is generally for the lowest of the low. We do love Hallownest’s odd snack and drink though. So here I am! Aw, I broke my unintentional rhyme. So, behold? I do not know.”

“Is he okay?” Lurien asked softly. Gwyn wibbled a hand.

“Does this mean the Sisters accepted your request?”

“They did! Well, originally they accepted it on the terms that I guard the gate until I inevitably perished under the near never-ending onslaught of Deepnest, but maybe this amuses them more. I believe that is the backup plan now, should the gate ever fail.”

“The many ton stone door?”

“I am admittedly not too concerned,” Thistle hummed. “Though it would be a honorable death. Ah, I am rambling again! They called me _old_ , you know. Verbose in my age. I suppose I am. Sorry! Rambling. How are you? You look, if I may be so bold, both better and worse.”

“That’s pretty accurate,” he said. “I’m… fine.”

“A fine place you’ve reached, then.”

They bought a mantis claw—not so much because they needed it but because he seemed to not be selling many—and continued on their way.

“We could give it to Hollow,” Gwyn mused.

“Absolutely not,” Lurien said. “Ghost being able to get most anywhere they want is bad enough.”

“I thought Hollow was the well behaved one?”

“Ghost is just a thousand times more of a general nuisance. Hollow moved all the furniture slightly to the left once. They strike rarely but effectively.”

“I’m definitely giving it to Hollow.”

“Gwwwyyynnnn,” Lurien whined.

After a few more hours of milling about, Gwyn admitted he was growing tired and they returned to the palace. 

* * *

Weeks passed in general quiet. They returned to the market a handful of times, and explored the City in general. Unease began to creep into him; bugs kept turning to look at them and whisper. At first he thought it was because of Lurien—Lurien had said he tended to keep to the Spire—but no, this was something else. This…

“They know,” he whispered one day. 

Lurien was quiet, suspiciously so, until he finally said, “There was no way to keep your return a secret forever. There were rumors before, and now bugs have been asking how Hollow was finally healed in Court, and Hornet has been answering. Very truthfully. Word has been spreading from there.”

He felt… he didn’t know how he felt. His initial reaction was betrayed, but had he really been? Hornet had her own image to look after, and the bugs of Hallownest deserved to know the truth. 

“She considered a declaration,” Lurien admitted. “But she worried the reaction would be too visceral. She’d always said if you ever returned she’d love to throw you to the vengeflies. I suppose you won her over.”

Lurien cleared his throat. “Or she’s decided you’ve been through enough. It can be hard to tell with her.”

Gwyn supposed it could be far, far worse. If Hallownest had—if they did—decide he deserved more, what was he to do? He didn’t even have his magic.

* * *

Hornet responded to him bringing it up the next morning by loudly slurping her coffee before saying, “I made sure to play up the infection itself being outside of your control. I was this—” she held two fingers barely apart. “Close to throwing you to the vengeflies when you first showed up. Ruling has made me soft, I swear.”

She then continued into the throne room before he could reply.

Ophir insisted the fresh air (”We are underground.” “The fresh. Air.”) was good for him, so they continued their ventures into the City. Bugs would sometimes give him a wide berth. Sometimes he saw strange blobs lurking around corners, with eyes and too many limbs, but they would retreat the moment any bug passed by. He had to respect the level of influence Hornet—and he suspected, Hollow— had over her kingdom.

A few days later they stumbled upon the Reunification Project, set up in a small building a few blocks over from the palace.

“We aren’t very busy anymore,” the ladybug behind the counter said. The building was covered in notes and maps, and maskflies perched on branches nailed to the walls. “You can certainly take a look though. I’m Vesta, by the way.”

She pulled out a thin book. “These are the ones still open. Many bugs have accepted that if their loved ones haven’t turned up yet, they probably won’t.”

He flipped through it. Each page was devoted to a particular family, listing who was in Hallownest and then descriptions of the bugs they were looking for. 

“Maybe we should go,” Lurien murmured. He shook his head and continue skimming. Stopped. Flipped through the last few pages.

MISSING/  
Name: Flint  
Relation: Child  
Gender: Male  
Species: Mole Cricket  
Coloring, Markings: Tawny with green abdomen, spots on back

“I know this person,” he said.

“Excellent!” the ladybug said. He looked up in alarm, having almost forgotten her. “Do you have away to get in contact with them?”

He hesitated. Did he even _want_ to? Not really, he thought. But also yes. Surely it was the least he could do, even if he’d… 

He swallowed thickly. “Um. No. But. Lurien can.”

“I can?” Vesta was already cheerfully handing the centipede some parchment with a pouch attached to it—for any geo or small items you wish to send, she explained—along with some string with Hallownest’s seal at its end. She copied the information on Flint’s parents onto a note and handed it to him as well. “Ah. Thank you.”

“Thank you! Will you need one of our maskflies?”

“No. I have some,” he said. She beamed as they left.

“I can?” he repeated.

“I mean,” Gwyn amended. “You can contact Raja-”

“I’m sorry, you want me to contact _Raja_?"

“- who can then pass it on to Flint. And no, I do not, I would super appreciate not being mentioned at all. But I can’t just _not_.”

Lurien muttered to himself the entire time they walked to the Spire, only a few words like “lost it” and “ _Raja_ ” being audible. 

“Lurrriieennn,” Gwyn chirped as the elevator rose.

“I’m doing it,” Lurien then said, rolling out the parchment with flourish on his desk. He wrote a brief letter. Attached the note. Put a few pieces of geo into the pouch. Tied it all shut and whistled a maskfly down from the rafters.

“How… long have those been there?” Gwyn asked.

“Literally since your rule,” Lurien said.

“They _have_?”

“You are very observant, dear,” Lurien teased, attaching the letter to the maskfly and sending it on its way.


	26. Soulbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn spends time adjusting to life in a new Hallownest with a bit more health on his side. Only a few mistakes are made.

“You made sure to _not_ mention me, right?”

“Love,” Lurien said wearily, stopping to cup his face. “It’s been two weeks. I understand your concern. I _promise_ I did not. I am but a wealthy bug who remembered she mentioned having a smith named Flint once.”

Lurien kissed the top of his head and he forced himself to relax. Perhaps, for once, a stupid and emotionally driven idea would not come back to punch him in the face. Just once. Lurien took his hand and led him back to the palace.

Hornet stared at the ceiling as Lurien told her of the letter. The throne room was empty save for guards and a servant stoking the fire.

“The possible self sabotage you faceplant into is astounding, Father,” she muttered, looking back to them. He could not help but feel delight at the title. “Still. It was a kind thing for you to do. Describe Raja to me?”

He did so, along with her banner.

“Alright. I will tell the guard to keep an eye out for her.”

* * *

A concern with the City’s plumbing meant Lurien had to spend more time at the Spire. Gwyn remained at the palace, as a day at the Spire resulted in him mostly being in the way as Lurien and his assistants hurried about, searching for reports and writing new ones when they weren’t intently observing the City. 

Gwyn quickly grew lonely. Which meant he could dwell without restraint, which often led to him wanting to cry, especially when his attempts to cast failed—he could not even gather Soul—and any plant reminded him of the White Lady.

He took to spending more time with the Vessels. Neither allowed him into their room, but otherwise seemed amiable to his presence. Ghost was difficult to keep track of. Hollow’s repair meant they could no longer scream, and they took to ear piercing whistles when they wanted immediate attention. They had calmed significantly, though, and moved with the methodical grace Gwyn remembered. 

Hollow showed him a garden they had started in the palace’s private one, which hurt Gwyn’s heart but he did his best to not show it. From the looks of it, the space was primarily used to grow tubers and fungi—food—but a portion of it had been cleared out and fenced in with lengthwise planks of wood for Hollow’s use. They had planted flowers, and tiny buds were already emerging through the soil.

A handful more weeks passed. Raja had not been seen, Hornet assured, and he resumed exploring the City. 

The stalls selling bottled Soul and charms that supposedly increased ones magical capability were difficult to ignore without Lurien’s company. He _knew_ what Ophir had said. He knew the whisper of magic that remained was too small to be affected by anything. He’d seen plenty of desperate bugs in his time.

This knowledge did not stop him from purchasing a bottle and a charm. He _was_ desperate. Maybe it would be different for him. He suddenly understood the many bugs he’d watched with contempt so long ago.

He returned to the palace, ensuring the floor was empty save for the lone sentry before shutting the door to his room. He attached the charm, a silvery octagon with two pink gems embedded in its center. His magic did not even flutter. He swallowed down the Soul.

Fire instantly tore through him and he could not find the voice to scream. The Soul settled within him and he tried to cast but still it failed, the Soul was just _present_ and _burning_. He ripped the charm off to no effect, pulling the door open and stumbling into the hall.

“Are you okay?” the sentry asked. He nodded, swallowing back bile; he did not want Hornet or Ophir or really anyone to know. He had to get rid of the Soul. He could not face their inevitable judgment and, perhaps worst of all, sympathy. _Magic was the only thing he’d ever been good at,_ he could hear Monomon saying. _Do you believe me now?_ he could hear Ophir chiding.

He stumbled down the stairs. “Are you sure?” the sentry called.

“Yes,” he croaked.

He made it to the fourth floor before sinking against the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling and failing to suppress a hiccup. You would have regretted not trying even a little, a part of him whispered. He immensely regretted trying, another part of him yelled.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he opened blurry eyes, trying to think of how to explain that no, he wasn’t having a crisis, nothing to worry about, really! when he realized it was Hollow.

Cold seeped into him, a horrible emptiness that he tried to pull away from. Hollow tightened their grip and Soul snaked up their arm and into their being. Both the fire and the cold faded.

“O- oh,” Gwyn whispered. “Thank you.”

The Vessel chirped.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to not tell anyone about this?”

A thoughtful hum. Hollow let go of his shoulder and pulled the mantis claw from their cloak, turned it about, then nodded at him and put it away.

“Thanks. You’re the best.”

[I know.]

* * *

After a day spent moping, he forced himself to venture outside again. Lurien passed with an armful of reports, backtracking to greet him and kiss his cheek before hurrying off again. Someone “aww”d. He became intensely interested in a nearby book stall.

The strange blobs continued to lurk in the corner of his eyes, but also disappeared in a hurry. 

“Ugh. You’re the fifth bug today to mention them,” a sentry muttered when he nervously asked about them.

“The old Soul Sanctum is really starting to deteriorate,” another commented. “Maybe some missed mistakes are escaping. I’m sure a patrol will be put together to deal with them soon. In the mean time, don’t worry, their harmless.”

“Just creepy,” the first said, shuddering.

“Very creepy,” Gwyn agreed. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” they chirped together.

Hollow later invited Gwyn to join them dinner, and Hornet did not seem to mind him being there. One evening she asked his opinion on a lingering trade matter, and he tried to contain his delight on being even remotely useful. Hollow would also occasionally seek him out, be it to demand pets or give him something. A sticky bun. A crude painting of what he _guessed_ was himself and a smaller Hollow holding hands. He hung it in his room, to the Vessel’s clear delight.

Ghost apparently had access to paint too, though they mostly covered their hands in it and ran through the palace. An exasperated Shard finally locked them in a broom closet; two minutes later, the closet was open and the Vessel running amok again.

“GHOST!” Hornet yelled, joining the group of bugs chasing after them. Hollow plucked Ghost up by the back of their cloak.

“Thank y— _Hollow_ ,” Hornet said. The larger Vessel had placed their sibling in the rafters before disappearing in a wink of void. “HOLLOW!”

* * *

It was another month before a question he’d had, but never cared enough to ask, was answered: the bug-horse belonged to Flint. It trotted through the street laden with bags, responding to the many stares it got by reaching for various snacks. Flint held its reins in one hand, a scrap of parchment he kept glancing at in the other.

Gwyn could not help but follow, albeit at a distance. Stealth, though, was not his forte; Flint turned and confronted him after a mere block. 

“S- sorry,” Gwyn said. “I was just- I wanted to make sure- I just- Terra-”

“Terra,” Flint echoed. “ _Wyrm?_ ”

He tensed, and did not relax when Flint burst into laughter. “Holy shit. I thought you seemed a bit familiar. No no, come with me. I can punch you if this turns out to be a joke—I’m _kidding_. That was a bad joke. Let’s go.”

Gwyn followed, the bug-horse nibbling on his mask. Eventually Flint stopped in front of a small, dome-like home three streets from the marketplace, flowers blooming in window boxes and a lumafly lamp above the door.

A loud _shriek_ came from the answering mole cricket, a sentry fluttering over before realizing hugs, not any sort of violence, were being exchanged and returning to their post. A second bug appeared in the doorway, and it was a good many minutes before any bug calmed down enough to start taking the bags off the bug-horse. Gwyn awkwardly stood a few feet away.

Flint led the bug-horse to the side of the house, tying their lead to a nearby post. Gwyn could see his parents were both setting the table and tending to the oven, clearly intent on creating a stellar feast in celebration.

“I must admit,” Flint said. “After everything that’s happened, I was not expecting you to take any sympathy. I didn’t even know Hallownest… I…”

“Raja isn’t here, right?” Gwyn asked quietly.

“Huh? Oh. No. Though that does remind me to write confirming I’m quitting as her blacksmith.”

“You won’t tell her about me, right?”

Flint rolled his eyes. “So you didn’t think this all the way through. For once, I’ll accept it as an endearing trait. No, Wyrm, I will not tell Raja. I wouldn’t worry _that_ much, though; if your buyer hasn’t written in that he’s lost you and requested her help, where you end up isn’t her concern.”

So Lurien, at least, had thought things through. Thank Terra _someone_ had.

Flint glanced back inside. 

“I still think you’re the worst,” Flint said. His voice softened. “But… thank you. This was a risk you could have easily chosen to not take.”

He didn’t know what to say. You’re welcome? It was the least he could do? All of this felt both too little and implied. After a few more moments Flint nodded, and he took a few step back. Flint stepped inside and the door shut.

* * *

He told Hornet about Flint’s arrival and what he’d said about Raja. Hornet said she’d tell the guards to relax after another week or so, just to be safe.

He woke the next day in high spirits. A maskfly tapping on his window carried a letter from Lurien, saying he’d been free later in the afternoon. He’d meet him at the Fountain. 

A stall selling paints had recently opened. He decided he’d get some for the Vessels before meeting Lurien; maybe they’d finally stop running out, even with all of Ghost’s wall art. 

He was not too far from said stall when he saw a blob again. This one, oddly, lingered, and he could approach it.

Then it darted into the shadows of the alley. Gwyn followed only a few steps before freezing at a sudden cry that quickly cut off. A shape approached and he backed up, stopping only when the light of the market washed over him. His heart fluttered and he wished he had a weapon. Only guards and Hornet and her siblings were allowed weapons in public. Still, he wished for one.

The figure that drifted into the light was far larger than he’d been expecting.

“Ah,” the Soul Master said lazily. The remnants of the blob coated a hand in a shiny mucus. “No wonder I could not sense you. What a terrible fate for a god. I could help you, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! I started this as a "let's see if I can kick myself out of my writing rut" and hot diggity have you all helped a lot! <3


	27. The Soul Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn learns of the progress on the Soul Master's work.

Gwyn stared for a long moment. He supposed there was no reason for Hornet to banish the Soul Master, even if he could easily imagine her distaste for him. 

He also remembered making his own distaste very, very clear, especially as the Infection spread at an ever increasing rate and the Soul Master kept _wasting his time_ with theories he’d known at a glance would not work. The mortal body and mind could not take so much Soul. 

“I’m okay,” he said, taking another step back. 

“Is this fear, Wyrm?” the Soul Master hummed. 

“No,” Gwyn said. “This is ‘I know your work and I don’t care for it.’”

The Soul Master drifted forward and grabbed his arm. “I must insist,” he said, before they teleported in a flash of light.

* * *

“If I may make an argument,” the Soul Master said as they reappeared. “If you had your magic, you could have stopped me.”

Gwyn ripped his arm out of his grip. They were not, he realized, in the Soul Sanctum, but a smaller, single story building. The walls were lined with silvery tables and containers that swirled with a dim light and were connected to a series of glowing tanks and tubes. Stained books and parchment littered the floor, a hammock above where he guessed the Soul Master slept. An oven sat in a corner, an alchemy set precariously perched on shelves near it. More of the strange blobs scuttled about and let out high pitched moans. He did not recognize the murk and foliage outside. “Bring me back,” he snapped.

“Of course, your Majesty. In due time. I have theories,” he hummed. “As to how you lost your magic. I sense it has something to do with the dear Hollow Knight’s recovery.”

“I don’t care for your theories.”

“You never did. I, despite your poor manners, did take your critique-”

“ _Dismissal._ ”

“- into account. Soul is limitless-”

“I told you,” Gwyn said wearily. “The figure that approach you sounded like the Radiance. She was lying to you.”

“- I am _aware_ of that now. Despite this too, I learned. Soul is limitless. Void is limitless. I realized that a proper use of Void could draw the Infection out of bugs and store it, safely, if only temporarily. I also realized that Soul could not _prevent_ the Infection but enough of it could burn it away. Your idea with the Vessels was correct. Your execution was wrong.”

“You could have said all this without teleporting me away, or pretending you could help with my magic,” Gwyn said.

“I wasn’t pretending,” the Soul Master said. “Much of our magic is powered with Soul. Void magic doesn’t need to be. Soul merely keeps it under our control.”

He drifted over to one of the containers, Gwyn hesitating a moment before following. The Soul Master nodded at the glass.

Gwyn squinted, then crouched and placed a hand on the glass. Inside was mostly gray interspersed with black and white. 

After a few moments eyes opened near the top. Slowly, the black and white pooled to streaked inkiness the bottom, a tiny hand pressing against his. A Shade. He stared, barely processing. A Shade. There were others? Where? How long had this one been in here? He had given the Soul Master some before, for his experiments, and if these were the same ones…

“- its spit with herbs, it can actually grant magical capability to bugs, along with increasing their mental fortitude.”

“What?” Gwyn asked.

“I said, if you drink its spit with herbs-”

“ _Spit?_ ”

“Well,” the Soul Master allowed. “That’s not the technical term, and sounds gross, but they can create an indefinite amount of Soul _and_ Void, and eventually they disgorge the excess. It has taken many, ah, failures, but I finally have a few capable of creating viable samples. I still need to perfect the recipe, as its effects are not permanent, but I am confident they eventually can be. If you were to help me-”

“You can’t-” Gwyn swallowed, feeling sick. “Do that.”

The Soul Master drifted down a bit, then recovered. “I have, though.”

“I mean you can’t do that to them! They are-”

“Empty. You said it yourself. Come now, Wyrm. For all your faults, you were always logical.”

“I was wrong.”

“No one has to know.”

No one did had to know. It was, even as shame rolled through him, tempting. 

“The Wyrm I knew,” the Soul Master said quietly. “Tolerated no competition. No greater mind, no greater will. You _built_ Hallownest and granted its citizens sentience. They are nothing without you, your Majesty.”

“I’m not-”

“You could be. Was the Hollow Knight not your design? Was the Infection’s cause not something godly? They judge you, but how desperately they needed you.”

An anger he hadn’t felt in an age rose. He’d lost so much trying to help Hallownest, been—continued to be—degraded, _knelt_. He was a _god_ even if only by the dullest flicker. He had not meant for everything to go so poorly, had not known, he-

The Shade let out a soft mew.

The frostiness that threatened to nestle in his heart melted. He couldn’t leave them. With the Soul Master? He’d known him a fraud even then. There was undoubtedly an ulterior motive for his offer and he was just going to go along with it? 

The Infection still would have happened. His Lady was gone. Regaining his magic would not change this.

But Lurien was here, no doubt fretting now that he had not shown up to the Fountain. Hornet had rebuilt Hallownest and still offered him a home. Hollow loved him when they, above anyone else, had reason to despise him. Even Herrah offered him softness. He could not throw that away.

If hurting another of his children was the cost to regain his magic, then he would not pay it.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice neutral. There were two windows and no doors. He supposed he just teleported in and out.

“I knew you’d see sense,” the Soul Master hummed. “Oh, I’ve been such a terrible host. Forgive me. I’ll make some tea.”

* * *

Gwyn supposed there was a slight benefit to having such an established character; nothing about the Soul Master’s actions suggested he thought he was lying. He feigned interest in the alchemy set while the tea was brewing. A blob scuttled over his hand and he suppressed a shudder, pulling his hand away from the little stove. “You never struck me as a chamomile sort of bug.”

“My associates are trying,” the Soul Master said. 

“I was wondering what they were.”

“Mistakes,” he replied. “Bugs who did not have my capacity for Soul but insisted they did. Their shells melted off and their… essence… still fell to the plague. They are waiting for me to craft them new bodies.”

“Do you intend to?”

The Soul Master gave an exaggerated shrug. “They are useful in my alchemy. Maybe one. Eventually. I’m still deciding.”

The mistakes continued roaming about without concern. “I see.” He was handed a cup of tea.

The Soul Master sipped his, and no horrible pain filled him when he did the same. He drained the cup.

“Is your research in here somewhere?” Gwyn asked, gesturing to the mess of papers on the floor.

The Soul Master picked up a nearby parchment and handed it to him, taking the tea cup. “There is more… I’ll gather it up.” 

Gwyn unrolled it. It described infusing Shades with Soul, effectively melting down those who did not take to the process and using this to strengthen the others. Some had perished from build up of Void and Soul, the bottom of the page filled with designs for consistent extraction of the excess from their containers. They made a notable amount about once a week otherwise.

“Brilliant, no?” the Soul Master hummed.

“Yes,” Gwyn managed. “Brilliant.”

* * *

He stayed for two days, insisting he did not want to actually _use_ the Shades until he further understood the theory. It was complex, he said. This seemed to please the Soul Master.

Finally, late that second day, the Soul Master left for supplies. Gwyn waited, one, two, five minutes before hurrying over to the nearest container and ripping the lock off and opening the door. Soul rushed out. The Shade, streaked with it, let out a hiss, then spilled out onto the ground with a soft cry. He pulled his cloak off and bundled them as best he could in it before picking them up. They were solid, if barely.

“It’s okay,” he said. They cooed softly. A mistake squawked and he kicked it away.

He opened the rest of the containers. Two more held Shades, the last so washed with Soul they were constantly shaking and did not respond to his touch or words. He bundled them all in the cloak and they did not seem to mind, pressing against each other.

Fortunately the mistakes either did not fully register his actions or they did not care. He opened a window and carefully climbed through it before shutting it behind him. A mistake plopped against the glass.

He did not recognize where they were. Shrubs grew and there was a chill in the air, wind whipping around him, and he prayed this would not be another cross-country venture. The building was nestled in a rocky outcropping, seemingly more for protection from the wind than secrecy. 

“I don’t suppose you know where we are?” he asked the Shades. Two had fallen asleep. The remaining one sneezed. “Okay. Fair enough.”

They pointed west. “Oh. Even better. Thank you.” They sneezed again, making a snot bubble of Void.

They did not start _leaking_ like he feared, and eventually the third also fell asleep. He had to stop every now and then to bundle them all back up when they started drifting through the folds of the cloth.

Night fell. He kept walking, albeit at a much slower pace than he was used to. He could not see much, and he wondered how any bug tolerated this when they were actually trying to travel. He supposed they were smarter and brought lamps. The Shades provided a dim light, but his cloak covered most of it and he did not want them giving away where they were.

He had stubbed his toes no less than twenty times when the sun finally rose again. By late morning he recognized, of all things, the towering statue of the Radiance in the distance. 

The familiar sound of teleporting sang behind him and he simply picked up his pace. The sound again, this time in front of him.

“You really need to learn to pick your fights better,” the Soul Master hissed.


	28. To Reach Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends can appear in the most unlikely of places.

Dread filled him. He didn’t have his magic, he didn’t have a weapon—he _really_ needed to learn the nail—just three tiny Shades. He clutched them tighter. The Soul Master reached for him and he ducked around him and bolted towards the cliffs; there was a tunnel at its base and he prayed it was still open.

The Soul Master lobbed spells at him, kicking up dirt and nearly knocking him off balance even when he managed to dodge them. He would teleport and Gwyn would turn around or duck under him. He could not be teleported. He could not be teleported.

All this meant he was making very little progress towards the cliffs, and though he could certainly tank the hits for a good while, they were starting to wear him down. The Soul Master would sometimes teleport above him and he’d have to scramble out of the way. The Shades stared at him with big eyes.

He could dig, but he’d have to put the Shades down. Though they drifted slightly, they did not seem to have the strength to truly move about their own. If the Soul Master decided to cut his losses and leave him, there was a good chance he’d move his workshop and the Shades would be gone. Even if they could, he might not be able to dig fast enough, or Soul would simply be blasted down the tunnel after them. 

“You’re not going to win,” the Soul Master said lazily. Gwyn wheezed heavily, stepping back from him. “I felt a kinship despite everything, Wyrm. You could have been a king. I see now you are nothing but a washed-up fool.”

The quiet Shade reached a hand out. He gently took it, whispering, “It’ll be o-”

The Void boomed into his _being_ , a cacophonous silence and he let out a strangled scream. Soul burned him from the inside out. He would have fell if not for a force keeping him upright, the Soul Master recoiling after his teleport. The ground cracked and broke, Void seeping up through it.

 _Interesting,_ the Void said. Its voice was distant, but present. _How rare for a call to manage my attention. What a delightful Vessel they chose._

He was just trying to help. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t go back to nothingness and fire and scrabbling for the briefest snatches of awareness of anything else. Voices he did not understand conversed through him, one heavy like the Void and others small. Void and Soul drifted from his shell, through joints and fresh cracks they made. 

The Soul Master drifted closer, peering at him but not touching him. He managed a tired hiss.

 _I will help you,_ the Void then said. This did nothing to abate his fears. 

Its presence reached for him, brushing his consciousness but unable to fully grasp it. Was it because it was so far from the Abyss? He recoiled from it.

 _I will help you,_ the Void repeated. _But you must let me. Trust me._

Trust the thing that condemned him to unbearable agony? That tried to kill him? That left him to rot into true nothingness when it couldn’t? Uh? No?

 _Well when you put it that way, I understand your hesitance,_ the Void admitted. _I swear, on the Shades, I will help you. After I have, I will release you unharmed._

The Soul Master drifted closer, apparently having gathered some courage. “Fascinating,” he muttered. “I did not know they could do this.”

Okay, he said.

Its presence reached for him and he forced himself to let it. Void seeped into his consciousness and he could not breathe. Void leaked in earnest from his shell and he continued to clutch the Shades.

“Soul Master,” the Void said. Its voice was quiet. The bug recoiled again. “No no. Come closer.”

His hand reached out, shell streaked black. “I wish to discuss your fascinating work.”

The Soul Master teleported, only to reappear wrapped in tendrils of Void. Agony seared through him as magic was cast through him. “I must insist,” it said. “Please. Join me.”

A pool of Void appeared on the ground beneath the Soul Master, the bug thrashing and screaming before being pulled into it. It disappeared with a quiet hiss.

_This was fun, Wyrm. I never get to see the outside world. We should do it again sometime._

Then Void and Soul were ripped out of him and he collapsed.

* * *

“Is he dead?”

“I think he’s just unconscious.”

He groaned faintly.

“Ah. See. He’s fine.”

He groggily opened his eyes. He was lying in the dirt, two sentries fluttering above him. The Shades—one of the sentries was holding them. He gingerly sat up.

“You Gwyn?” a sentry asked.

Yes, he tried, his voice failing. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Why?”

“’Cause her Majesty is looking for you. Something about you being an idiot whose gotten himself into trouble again.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s me.”

A Shade sneezed, the sentry holding them glancing down. “Are these… grublings?” they asked.

“Of a sorts. And they are mine,” he said, getting to his feet with a wince. He reached for them and they passed him the cloak. They all cooed at him.

“Do not,” he said, gently taking the outstretched hand of the quiet one again. “Do that again.”

The Shade cooed softly and nuzzled him. He took that as agreement.

* * *

They led him back into Hallownest. He insisted he could manage it from the tram, but they said Hornet had insisted whoever found him deliver him directly to her. He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

“ _Gwyn_ ,” Hornet snapped as they entered the throne room, startling the bug she’d been speaking to. “Where have you—are those _grublings_? It’s been four! Days!”

She leaned back with a heavy sigh. She murmured something to the bug in front of her, and they bowed and left. She beckoned him over and he sheepishly approached. “Thank you,” she told the sentries, who also bowed and left.

“Oh. They’re Shades. Please. Explain,” she said softly. Then, to a nearby guard. “Fetch Lurien.”

He did so. How he’d run into the Soul Master and been teleported away by him. His new study, the experiments he’d done and how. His offer. How he’d escaped with the Shades, the Soul Master finding them, the brief, strange union he’d had with the Void and how he could only assume the Soul Master was now very, very dead.

“We inspected the containers,” Hornet whispered. “They were empty. Or we thought they were. I thought they were. He agreed to leave and focus on restoring his fallen kin. I…”

She gripped the arms of the throne. “I let this happen.”

“You made a mistake,” Gwyn said. “Make a few thousand more and _then_ come talk to me.”

Hornet emitted a small laugh that she turned into a sigh. “Take the Shades. See that they are tended to. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

She drummed her fingers. “If you say so. I admit I did not expect you to turn down a chance to regain your magic. I have… vastly misjudged you. It is an honor to have you in my Court, Father.” 

Lurien burst into the room before he could even begin to form a reply, grabbing his face and turning it about. Was he okay? Yes. He was going to get a grubling leash or _something_ for him at this rate. Speaking of, were those grublings? Oh, Shades. How did he get Shades? Gwyn repeated his story. Lurien was going to get _two_ grubling leashes, this was ridiculous. 

Finally Lurien let him leave the throne room, following him up the stairs and into Monomon’s room. She and Quirrel, Lurien said, had left a couple days ago for the Library. Hollow and Ghost peered into the room, chirping.

He could not help those in the Abyss, but he could help these. He gently set them in the container—if it was big enough for Hollow’s Shade, it was plenty large for three smaller ones. They plopped into tired blobs with faint coos. Ghost climbed onto the desk and pressed their face against the glass.

“Apparently,” he said. “They can make an indefinite amount of Void and Soul. From what I gathered of Soul Master’s notes, this should stop if enough Soul is removed. I want to extract some of the excess Void first, though, to ensure they are stable afterward. Hollow, could you move this into my room? I do not trust half the things Monomon has left here without her presence.”

Hollow picked up the container and gently carried it out. Gwyn braved Monomon’s remaining crates long enough to find more filters before joining them. The container sat on his desk, Hollow and Ghost peering into it with interest.

He changed the Void’s filter to allow Void into the module. Hollow poked another with some Soul, and he switched that out with the Light one. Both began filling. 

Gwyn returned to Monomon’s room to pick up a crate of bottles. He placed it next to the container. Both were already half full.

“Well,” Lurien chirped. “Looks like you owe me a replacement date a bit later.”

“I’m sorry. I really-”

“Didn’t mean to get kidnapped? I imagine. I _do_ expect chocolate covered maggot bites, though. And flowers. You are also not allowed to get kidnapped anymore.”

Gwyn rolled his eyes, smiling regardless. “All of this sounds agreeable.”

“Excellent. I’ll go ahead and forgive you ahead of time.”

Gwyn leaned over to kiss his cheek, the centipede turning bright red and returning it.

* * *

Ophir appeared to check up on him a few hours later. Lurien stayed until the next morning, helping him switch out the modules until he excused himself to return to the Spire. Food was brought up multiple times a day. Mostly for the Vessels, who would both drop biscuits and roasted tiktik into the container.

It helped that Hollow and Ghost could simply consume the Soul and cast spells to get rid of it. Ghost seemed delighted at the chance to leave soot marks on the wall; Hollow was no better, lobbing lances of Soul. Herrah appeared, no doubt investigating the noise, left, then returned with a target dummy.

“You could have gotten one before you both marked up the walls,” Gwyn told Hollow, who was clinging to the ceiling with their mantis claw. A coo. “You’re going to fall, you know.” Another coo. 

A few minutes later Hollow did indeed fall, though it was only a couple feet given their height. “You _are_ as bad as Ghost.” A noise of clear denial while Ghost clapped eagerly.

He switched out another set of modules, sighing. They were filling slower, but not by much. This, he realized, was going to take a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teleport one more time, I screamed during the Soul Master fight. I dare you.
> 
> Also hheeEEYY we're reaching the end of the fic! \o/ Can't say I actually expected to get anywhere near finishing something, aha.


	29. Piri, Nox, and Cecil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, adjusting to life with three more kids.

After a week he did not need to constantly change the modules out, Gwyn promptly falling asleep at his desk. He managed this even over Ghost and the Shades’ constant tapping on the glass; he had no idea if they were communicating or just jointly making noise. Hollow did not join them. If he had learned anything, it was that the larger Vessel valued sleep far more than their sibling.

He did not sleep well, nightmares of the Void clawing and whispering causing him to wake in a cold sweat. A blanket was draped over his shoulders and he clutched it tighter. Ghost offered him a biscuit from a basket they had.

“I’m okay,” he croaked, sitting up and rubbing his face. The Shades seemed free of Soul, and he removed the Soul module and changed a filter to allow Void into the container. 

A part of him knew they would, in theory, be fine if he was not constantly watching them. After an hour of Ghost pressing a biscuit against his cheek and the Shades finally dozing, he got up to take a bath. He left the door open so he could hear if anything went awry. Bathing was nice. Sleeping was nice. No wonder Hollow did so much of both.

Once sufficiently clean, cloak pulled tight around him, he penned a request to the Mask Maker for three masks. Hesitated. He did not… he supposed he could ask Hornet to put her seal on it. 

“Hey,” he asked Ghost, the Vessel peeking out of the basket. “What sort of masks do you think they want?”

Ghost grabbed a scrap of parchment and quill and immediately began doodling. A few minutes later they slid pictures of giant masks with numerous horns and spikes towards him. [With flames! And polka dots!]

“Ghost,” Gwyn reasoned. “They are going to be as small, or smaller, than you.”

[Or bubbles!]

“You are not taking this seriously.”

Ghost crossed their arms and huffed, then signed, [Fine. No one appreciates an artist.]

“You’re very talented,” Gwyn assured.

* * *

Hornet sealed the letter, and it was two weeks before the masks themselves arrived. They were simple but well-made, one with a single horn, one without and a more angled snout, and one with three slightly curled horns.

“Okay,” he said, placing the masks by the container and opening the hatch. He reached in and gently extracted the Shades. 

They briefly squabbled over the masks, the quiet finally taking the three-horned and the largest the single-horned one. The last had waited until only one was left before scooting into the mask.

Their Shades hardened into shell, white eyes lighting in the masks. They all stood.

And immediately fell over, chirping. Gwyn gently helped them to their feet, holding his arm out so they could steady themselves against it.

“Oh no,” Lurien said, the centipede peeking in from the doorway. “They’re adorable.”

Ghost sneezed, and the three stared before sneezing as well. “Oh no,” Lurien repeated, entering the room proper.

The day was spent helping them adjust to their new bodies. They more often than not tripped over their own feet, Gwyn having to place them on the floor before they walked off the desk.

Their names did not seem to translate beyond clicks and chirps, but with Ghost’s help they got as close as they could. The quiet, small (”scary,” Gwyn said, to Lurien’s eye-roll) one was Piri. The middle one was Nox. The biggest, just barely taller than Ghost, was Cecil. 

“Only ‘Nox’ sounds remotely Void related,” Lurien commented. “Maybe they read them off notes?”

“’Ungodly shrieking noise’ is also very open for interpretation,” Gwyn said, continuing to hold Piri’s hand, as he’d been for the past hour. Piri cooed. He cooed back.

Ghost proved more than happy to help them learn how to cause proper chaos over the following weeks, bringing them paints and sticky rolls and what looked like Herrah’s sewing supplies and bundles of cloth. Hollow, ever the hero, sat among them and stitched them blue cloaks. The craftsmanship left much to be desired, but at least they now had clothes, a step up from the paint they’d simply poured on a torn off piece of cloth.

They were free to run amok in the palace, and eventually—”No no, you need Gwyn or Hollow with you,” a guard said, picking up an eager Nox—the City itself. They never really listened to Ghost, but Hollow’s stern clicks would bring them back in line before they were encouraged to run off again by the geo or sweets Hollow gave them.

“You’re so cute,” Thistle whispered, sounding about to cry as he handed them all mantis claws.

“I’ve just gone through all stages of grief,” a nearby sentry informed their partner, who nodded knowingly. 

Still, they preferred the palace, clambering up its walls and chasing Ghost through the rafters.

“Absolutely not,” Hornet huffed, scooping Cecil—who was often muddiest—up and out of a pile of clean linens. Shard sighed in the background. “You go tell your dad you need a bath now.” A whine. “Because you are _dirty_.”

Cecil pouted as they were scrubbed clean. Gwyn had just finished doing so and pulling their cloak on when Nox appeared, holding a spear many times larger than them. “Did you steal that?” Gwyn asked. An innocent coo as a guard burst in behind them. “I think you stole that.” Another coo.

Piri often clung to his side, a hand on his cloak, or perched on his shoulder. They would very rarely allow themselves to be given to Lurien, but shook like a leaf around anyone else. “You can stay here,” Gwyn assured, taking them back from a disgruntled Hornet. A soft coo.

“We all have bad taste sometimes,” Herrah assured her daughter, patting her shoulder. “Remember that aphid you dated?”

“ _Mother._ ”

“I told you she had a bad look about her, but did you listen? No. I’m still right even if you walk off,” Herrah called. Piri giggled.

“I’m sure they’ll warm up,” Gwyn said, holding Piri close. “I think they are just… the most overwhelmed of them.”

“I hear you summoned the Void itself,” Herrah cooed, offering Piri a hand. “Yes you did. I’m so proud.”

“Don’t encourage them. I am scarred.”

“Such a good little Vessel.”

All three slept in Gwyn’s room, leading to a cramped, but cozy bed with just the four of them, even more so when Lurien was present. When all was finally quiet, rain pittering above, soft chirps emitting from sleeping Vessels, Lurien curled against him, Gwyn would wonder what had ever been so appealing about ruling in the first place. 

“Congratulations on making it a month without getting kidnapped,” Lurien murmured sleepily one morning. He placed a pillow on his head in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right y'all nothing bad happens to Gwyn. Anything truly is possible.


	30. The Winter Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second major festival of Hallownest arrives.

“Why do we have _two_ large festivals every year?” Hornet whispered. She sat at the large dining table, surrounded by parchment and clutching her third cup of coffee.

“Something about keeping the population’s spirit up,” Herrah hummed. 

“Whoever said that is an idiot.”

“It was you, dear.”

“I,” Hornet proclaimed, slamming her cup down. “Am an idiot.”

Gwyn looked up from the stack of papers he was helping organize. “It sounds delightful, though. A large ball and winter festivities.”

[Presents!] Ghost signed, before they and Piri both threw their arms up in victory. They sat on the table, not helping, but also not hindering.

“It’s adorable. Hollow and Ghost have matching scarves,” Hornet said. She handed a sealed letter to the just returned messenger, who wearily ran off again.

“I’ll make the new ones scarves too,” Herrah assured. 

“Oh! Yes. That reminds me. Father, you need to be fitted for an outfit. My advisers insist everyone looks their best for the ball.”

“Is that why the Vessels get scarves?”

“Hollow is the only one who will stay still long enough for a proper outfit. You still won’t let most anyone else near you,” she cooed at Piri, who happily shoved a sticky bun in their face. “No you won’t. Tailor!”

“You really have mastered the ‘yell a thing at the air until it appears,’” Gwyn said.

“It’s convenient,” Hornet said. “I never said it wasn’t.”

It only took a few minutes for the tailor—a ladybug who, despite their position, wore only a mask—to appear. “Help him,” Hornet said, gesturing.

“Hey,” Gwyn said, at the same time the ladybug covered her mouth. It was the cloak Lurien had bought him! It was fine! “I wash it.”

“Sweetie,” the ladybug said, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. “No. This is not ball material. Deep down, you remember this.”

“I vaguely remember many things.”

She led him off, Piri hurrying after him and climbing onto his shoulder.

She gathered his measurements, working around the clinging Piri, holding up fabrics of light blue and white and making “hm” noises. Piri reached for a pile of sparkling bows and the tailor stopped to affix a bright yellow one to a horn. 

“Alright,” she said after a bit. “I’ll send it up in the next few days.”

* * *

The week was spent confirming invitations, finalizing plans, and the kitchens running nonstop. The little Vessels were not allowed in them during this, this enforced by Hollow standing at the door and shooing them off. The cooks fed them any burnt foods in return, much to their delight.

His outfit was a white tunic, along with light blue and white silk layered into a full cloak. His mask had been scrubbed clean and set on top of the bundle. The smaller Vessels were all rounded up long enough to tie thick, cream-colored scarves to them. Once this was done, the Vessels immediately ran off.

“Just so you know,” Ophir said one day, as the healer checked over his hand one last time. It, at least, had finally healed. “It is common for everyone to exchange gifts during the Festival.”

“Oh,” Gwyn said. He had. A little under a week to get gifts. He felt they would all understand—and that was perhaps why they didn’t tell him—but surely he could think of something. "Thank you. I guess I'll be in the market... pretending I know what I'm looking for."

"Don't get lost," Ophir hummed. He rolled his eyes.

* * *

The day of the Winter Festival came. It started quiet, breakfast brought up as normal and him carefully affixing Piri’s bow as the Vessels ate. 

The ball was situated to begin with nightfall—the maskfly that flew between the palace and Dirtmouth to keep track of such things squawked indignantly as Cecil swatted at it from the window when it passed. A servant seemed determined to ensure he was in the proper outfit the morning of, though, helping him into the many layers and making sure it sat just so before letting him leave. 

The City was lit with lumaflies in frosted glass and candles perched on stone, light blue banners draped over buildings. The smell of apple and berry pies wafted through the streets, new sweets brought by increased trade with the mosskin. 

There were fewer vendors than the Festival of Wakening, bugs instead bustling about exchanging presents. Now that the day was here, he fretted his gifts would be insufficient. He’d wrapped them himself, which meant the wrapping was… well, the gifts were covered. He spent the day locating everyone.

He gifted Hornet a needle cleaning kit. Once he did so he immediately felt it was too practical, even for her; but she inspected it, then nodded and said, “Thank you. I’m _always_ being given the wrong whetstones. At least someone knows the difference between a needle and a nail. Speaking of.”

She gifted him a fine nail, wrapped in soft velvet. “I’ll teach you to use it later,” she assured, a hint of a smile in her voice. He returned to his room long enough to put it away.

Her and Lurien had been the most stressful. For the centipede he got a bag of maggot bites, along with a gray chitin-covered, waterproof journal. “I’m sure you have plenty of interesting stories to write,” he said. Lurien kissed his cheek.

“I’ll have to give you my gift later,” Lurien teased. He tried to not turn too red.

For Herrah, a large sleep mask. “I actually love this,” Herrah admitted. She gave him a sweater of similar thickness and color to the Vessels’ scarves.

“Just to expand your wardrobe a bit more,” she said. He clutched it close. “I will deny it if you say I made it for you.”

“But you did.”

“Irrelevant.”

For Monomon, a set of moisturizers. “I do miss when my Archive was just a bit more soggy,” she said. She gave him a charged lumafly in a jar. He very carefully placed this on his desk.

For Hollow, a weighted blanket. “I am told it’s like a hug.” An extend coo. They gave him a sloppily made pin that read “Okayest Dad.” He pinned it immediately to his fancy outfit.

For Ghost, a second mantis claw. The Vessel held it, then took out their other, staring before nodding slowly and pocketing both. [I got you nothing.] “That’s fair.” They ran off brandishing both claws.

He had no idea what to get Ophir, but he felt he owed the bug who’d spent so much time healing him something. He finally settled on a fresh apple pie and a little box of lavender scented candles. “Oh,” Ophir said. “Thank you! I didn’t expect… I didn’t get you anything. Sorry.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” he said. Despite everything, he’d still been surprised anyone had gotten him anything. “It’s a belated, larger thank you.”

“You are quite welcome,” Ophir said warmly.

“Yes,” Gwyn cooed at the other three Vessels. “You are so cute.” He tied Piri’s scarf into a giant bow, Cecil’s he untied so it was just loosely wrapped around them, and Nox’s he ensured was tied twice so they wouldn’t lose it as they ran amok. He handed them all bags of maggot bites and they all ran off in delight, save for Piri who chose to perch on his shoulder.

* * *

The palace was often open, but today it felt even more so. Blue carpet had been extended from main doors to the throne room which, he realized, doubled as the ball room. The hearth had been stoked and sprinkled with spices and flowers, giving the room a delightful, warm smell. Tables had been pushed together and covered with cloth along the wall with said hearth; hors d'oeuvres and drink were piled until he was certain no more would fit, then piled even more. A large, plush nest sat between the table and hearth.

Tables and chairs formed three rows on the other side of the room, the center clear. Servants were dressed in short blue scarves that looked like there were frosted with ice. An orchestra was setting up near the throne, dressed in matching gold and white cloaks.

Hollow was adorned in layers of light blue silk and white scales, a cream scarf draped loosely around their neck. They stood next to Hornet, the colors of her kingdom swapped for reds and golds save for a large white scarf.

Bugs began to pour in. Though few could hold a candle to the regal air Hollow or Hornet gave off, everyone had clearly dressed their best. Blues and greens and white stitching forming patterns of swirling snow filled the room. Even Herrah and Monomon wore nicer variants of their clothing, the latter seemingly having covered herself in glitter.

“Like snow,” Monomon said happily, waving her tendrils. A nearby servant drained a glass of champagne as glitter fell to the floor.

“Monomon,” Herrah said, the jelly merely patting Herrah’s face and applying glitter to it before floating off.

Lurien’s cloak looked like a snowy forest had been faintly stitched into its fabric, shimmering slightly in the light. They gently booped masks before Lurien excused himself; he had to give his report to Hornet before he could properly relax. He quickly disappeared in the crowd.

A bug came up with a tray of champagne and he took one. Piri sniffed it, sneezed, and pointed to Hollow. He walked over to them, Piri climbing onto their shoulder instead. He supposed Hollow’s height made them feel better around so many new bugs.

“As always,” Hornet called a bit later. “Thank you all for coming. Today, we celebrate that though winter may rage above us, we always have the safety of what lies beneath the snows to protect us. We celebrate that we have each other.”

Music began, gentle and slow. He’d been told that first dance who always between Hollow and Hornet, and he’d secretly wondered how they looked anything other than awkward given their height differences. They did not dance as he’d expected, however, instead gracefully moving in opposing half-circles before meeting in the room’s center and taking each other’s hand. For some reason, Gwyn was certain this had originally been practiced with nails.

They let go, the music changing and more bugs stepping onto the floor. Herrah danced with another beetle, and an unknown cricket led him onto the floor.

Hollow happily moved to lounge in the nest, Piri snuggled against them. Gwyn knew they were eating, but no matter when he glanced over, the plate of hors d'oeuvres by them never seemed to grow smaller.

Hornet danced with a female mantis he did not recognize, with horns similar to the Sisters but slightly smaller and curved more inward. The deep blue and gray he associated with the Mantis Tribe was present, but accompanied by a bright red brooch with a silk bow.

Gwyn neatly switched partners as the song changed so that he and Herrah were dancing together. He nodded at the two. “Tell me mooorree.”

“That's Briar. She beat Hornet in a duel,” Herrah said, sighing happily. “She’s one of the Sisters’ protégés. Hornet is so, so shy though, I’m a bit surprised she actually invited her this time.”

“This time?”

“She’s been saying she would for two years now. Always found some excuse, though. Busy rebuilding and all,” Herrah leaned closer to whisper, “Very shy. Hornet always gets so dreamy-eyed when she talks about her, though she’ll never admit it. I like her.”

Ghost, Cecil, and Nox held hands and spun in circles for a couple songs before losing interest and hurrying over to the food. Lurien danced with a botfly not too far away, and it only took one more song before they were together. Gwyn burrowed his face into Lurien’s shoulder. Despite the scent of lavender from his clothing being freshly washed, old books and rain still clung. 

He lost track of time. They stopped once to grab snacks, adorably small sandwiches and stuffed mini peppers and maggot bites. Piri cooed but remained with Hollow as they returned to the dance floor.

Gwyn pushed their masks up before gently pressing his lips to his. He tasted of sweets and mint leaves, of the promise that everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking around for my first proper venture into fanfic! I hope you enjoyed reading it, as I very much enjoyed writing it!


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